


Ghosting

by peachycans



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Violence, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:40:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 59,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachycans/pseuds/peachycans
Summary: Eddie Gluskin, a man well-known in the state of Colorado, has a job as both tailor and serial killer. But one of his more recent victims has come back to haunt him, and in the worst way possible. After continuous trial and error to get the annoying specter off of his back, he soon realizes that a hole has been dug much deeper than what he’d bargained for, and Gluskin wishes he’d never dragged the man into his shop that one fateful night.





	1. Bored

Eddie was bored.

Not in the usual, “I can’t find anything to occupy myself with.” Kind of way. No, he was bored of sitting around, waiting for someone to commission him. He was bored of repeating the same stitches over and over again on his stripped fabrics, of not feeling the warm sensation of blood clinging to the fingers of his leather gloves…

He sighed heavily. He felt truly, horrifically, honest-to-god bored. And it was killing him. How ironic.

It was strange. He’d meet with a plentiful amount of people on a normal day (Typically, all whores) about alterations or wedding gown ideas that a future bride wanted made for her special day. Eddie rolled his eyes, glancing over at the blank mannequins outlined on the sketchbook beside him.

He was about to go into the backroom and look over some of his newer fabrics for inspiration when he heard the little chime of a bell above the front entrance of the shop. Eddie paused, swiveling around on his heels to greet the customer.

“Hello, welcome to…” Eddie began, pausing when he finally looked up at the person that had entered. It was a man; if the tailor had to guess, a man in his early thirties; with blonde hair that curled softly just an inch or so above his shoulders. Eddie gulped. “…Gluskin’s bridal and alterations.”

As the man approached the counter, Eddie took in both the bag he was holding- and his shimmering brown eyes. The older man had to avoid growling, putting on a warm smile instead as he leaned over the counter. “How can I help you?”

The young man shifted, setting the plastic bag on top of the desk, “Well, actually, I have a formal business party coming up and my old man gave me a suit. But it has a tear in the sleeve, and the pants are a bit too long for me. A friend of mine recommended I come here, said you’d made the bridesmaid dresses for his friend’s wedding.” He rambled, gesturing to the plastic bag again. “Is it possible you can fix it by tomorrow afternoon…? Sorry, it was all kind of last-minute.”

Eddie glanced over to the bag before gently pulling out the contents inside. There was a simple baby-blue dress shirt on top and a pair of black slacks beneath. As he inspected the shirt, he found the tear the man spoke of fairly quickly; it was a large rip on the seam just below the armpit.

“How far up do the slacks need to be hemmed?” Eddie asked, turning the pants over towards the blonde.

The man tilted his head, pulling at the bottom of the pants, “Um, I’d say about an inch and a half would do the trick.” He mumbled, letting the fabric linger in his hold for a couple seconds longer.

The tailor hummed in approval, folding both garments neatly and placing them back into the bag. “I can get these done fairly quickly, but we’re almost closed now. You could come by at any time after we open at nine AM tomorrow to pick them up. I just need you to fill out a form with your requests.”

“Oh thank you, you’re a life-saver.” The man breathed, quick to fill out the sheet of paper he was handed. He placed the pencil on top when he was done, smiling up at Eddie with the most beautiful smile the tailor had ever seen. “I’ll be here. Once again, thank you.”

Eddie nodded, bowing and murmuring his goodbyes as the man turned to leave. The tailor picked up on a small tinting of red over his cheeks as he left, finding it a somewhat pleasing look for him to adorn.

Once he was gone, Eddie picked up both the bag and the form and walked into the backroom of his shop. He placed the bag on the table, sparing a glance at the paper still in his hand.

Huh. His first name was Waylon. He hadn’t heard of someone with a name like that before.

With a sigh, Eddie pulled the items back out of the bag and took a seat in the chair resting near his sewing equipment. A simple task for a beautiful man. One of the most beautiful men he’d ever seen.

That’s when Eddie knew. This man, Waylon Park; had to die.

* * *

Waylon had come in bright and early the next morning to pick up his clothes. He’d entered the shop not even half an hour after Eddie had flipped the sign over from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’. Of course, that hadn’t really mattered in the end. He’d already finished the garments the night before, and had handed them off once Waylon payed.

As the blonde-haired man left, Eddie wondered how long he’d wait until he killed him. Three weeks? A month? Four? A year? 

No, he couldn’t wait a year. A year was saved for the special sluts who he felt nothing more for than a whisk of a perverted thought. This little darling of his was beautiful; he could practically see his life planned out with him by his side.

Which is exactly why this ‘Waylon Park’ needed to die; soon, too. Homosexuality was an abomination, and he wouldn’t dare let his mind be corrupted by these whore-like men allowed to wander the streets. No, these people; they were forcing him to think these corruptive thoughts. And he needed to get rid of them.

In a sense, Eddie knew he was a serial killer. And he didn’t mind the fact all that much; it just seemed like a normal day in the office when he sunk the blade of a knife deep into a man’s chest. It felt so… Natural. 

Eddie hummed an old tune he’d had stuck in his head for a while as he peeled away the old carpet draped over a trap door in his work room. He started down the old rickety staircase, flicking the light on before closing the door behind him. He walked over to a nearby table, inhaling the thick scent of copper as he pulled on a pair of black leather gloves and a hat.

The shop had been built on the edge of town with three floors to it; the main floor, which was to be used for businesses, the apartment level, which rested above the shop portion, and the basement level. The upper two levels were built up like a boxy ‘u’ shape in between the other buildings, creating a small garage out back with the leftover room for him to park his car. The basement level was one huge room in the shape of a square with polished wooden floors and concrete walls.

Eddie had hung fabrics up to try and brighten the drab colors of his basement years and years before, but most of them had been torn up or damaged since. By either a whore clawing at the walls, or an ungrateful slut pulling a switch blade out that Eddie had forgotten to check for beforehand. The whole basement level gave off a disturbing, eerie kind of vibe; just the way he liked it.

Once the accessories were pulled on securely, Eddie walked over to one of the two sterilized bodies lying still in the corner of the room. Just after Eddie had bought the space out, he’d made sure to test and fix the walls and ceilings that gave even the slightest hint of what was hiding out in the underground levels of his home; he didn’t want anyone suspecting what he was up to.

He picked up the oldest body in the room; it’d been there for almost five days now; and hauled it up securely over his shoulder. Eddie grunted with the added weight, glancing back over towards the other, “I’ll come back for you another time.” He mumbled, carrying the body back up the staircase and shutting the trap door behind him.

It was times like these that Eddie truly appreciated the way his shop had been built. When he carried bodies out the back door and into the garage, it would keep prying eyes off of him. The back of the shops on his street had a narrow strip of road that the tenants used to drive in and out, but was otherwise was completely surrounded by woods.

When Eddie had been scoping out places to take up residence and open his shop, he’d known that the building he now lived in had been the one. Everything about it, all of the uses that it came with; it was perfect.

With that thought in mind, Eddie dumped the body into the trunk of his car, slamming the door shut. He’d already planned out where this body was going; Americus, a bit of a drive from Leadville, but no big deal. He’d driven to Wyoming, Utah and Arizona before to dump bodies, this way hardly an inconvenience.

Leave no trace; he’d learned well over the years. No murder committed was the same as the last; bodies were piled on here and there, and wounds would vary from person to person. He was good; not a single body found had given away who had actually been behind it all.

He’d dumped the man in a pond near in the outskirts of Americus as soon as he arrived. Someone would find it while taking a late-summer-early-fall dip eventually and Eddie really didn’t care when. The whore was finished with, and that’s all that mattered.

Speaking of which, he needed to start doing some prying in on Waylon Park to figure out where he lived and what time of the day he could be found alone. Eddie hated to think of it as stalking, so he simply called it ‘investigating’.

He’d wait three days to kill him. The last whore he’d waited out for two months, and the one before only two weeks. If he was going to get this plan moving, he needed to figure out Waylon’s life quickly and efficiently.

Suddenly, Eddie didn’t feel as bored anymore.

* * *

Waylon pulled his jacket further over his shoulders, shivering at the cool night air ghosting over his thin frame. It was hardly fall yet, why was everything getting cold so damn soon? Ah, the joys of living in Colorado.

It had been a bit of a stressful night. Waylon’s supervisor’s supervisor, Jeremy Blaire, had been a bit of an asshole throughout most of the party, but what else was new. He’d definitely gotten his fill of harassing Waylon about the new software, both egging him to finish up his project faster while also reminding him to keep up the good work.

He hated company parties. They were always so boring and he had to wear fancy clothes. Waylon had always been more of a flannel and/or hoodie kind of guy, so dressing up was almost considered a crime against his nature. 

The blonde felt a chill run down his spine, but it didn’t feel like a sensation from the cold alone. It almost felt as if someone was watching him, eyes boring through the back of his skull. 

Waylon looked over his shoulder to check, but not a single soul roamed the sidewalks at this time of night. Maybe it was just because of where he lived; he _was_ treading on the shadier side of town, after all.

After a quick scan across the road Waylon shook his head, convincing himself that he was just paranoid. Who’d be watching his scrawny ass anyway, he could write a whole list of everything that would deter people away from wanting to get to know him, much less wanting to watch him while he was walking home.

He still felt that creeping feeling even as he climbed the small staircase into his apartment, closing the door quickly and locking it as soon as it was shut. Almost as an afterthought, Waylon clicked the dead bolt into place, too.

Waylon walked over to the counter, placing his phone and wallet onto the chipped tile surface before removing his coat and kicking off his shoes towards the front door. It wasn’t like anyone visited him besides his parents a couple times a year; it was usually him going to their house.

A loud shock of music startled Waylon where he stood. He screamed, nearly tripping over his heels when ‘Take Me Out’ by Franz Ferdinand blasted from across the room, nearly causing him to have a panic attack. Waylon growled, annoyed that his paranoia from before had allowed him to get scared just by the stupid ringtone he’d set on his phone.

The blonde swiped the green call button on the device, bringing the speaker up to his ear. “Hello…?”

“Waylon, my man!”

Waylon groaned, pinching his nose from the oncoming headache. “Hey, Miles. What do you want now?”

Miles scoffed from the other end of the line, following it up with an exaggerated noise that made Waylon chuckle, “What a way to greet you best friend, dude. Why do I always have to want something?” Miles asked, offended.

The blonde chuckled for a few more seconds before answering, “Miles, I know you. You better make it quick though because I’m ready to pass out and sleep for twenty years,” Waylon mumbled, punctuating the thought with a yawn.

“You’re absolutely right,” Miles laughed, and Waylon could hear him shuffling on the other end of the call. “I’ve just been bored over here at the office. Boss-man hasn’t had any good leads for an investigation and so far everything I’ve scrounged up is total garbage. Was wondering if you’d keep an eye out of in if you see anything interesting. Those guys you work for, Murkoff, they’re pretty shady, right?”

Waylon yawned again, trying to pull the tie around his neck down as he spoke, “Yeah, _totally,_ Miles. What about all of those people that’ve been on a murder spree in this state? I don’t think any of them have been caught yet.” He suggested, ignoring the initial prod at his managers . He turned off the lights in the kitchen before moving into his bedroom sluggishly.

His friend made a loud groaning noise, “Dude, everything I’ve been looking at involving those murders are coming up empty. These people are good; too good. Nobody seems to get a lick of an idea on where to start when a fresh corpse turn up.” Miles sighed, and Waylon imagined him running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Well, they can’t keep it up forever. One of them has to get caught eventually, that’s just how it goes.” Waylon mumbled, pulling on his pair of cookie monster sleep pants and a white t-shirt before crawling into bed. “Look Miles, I’d like to help you but right now my bodily functions are closing up shop for the night one by one.”

“Wouldn’t that mean you’re dying?”

“Shut up, Miles.”

“Okay, okay.” Miles laughed from the other end of the call. “I’ll let you go for the night. Sleep tight, you little kitten.”

Waylon laughed as well as he could given his drowsy state, “Yeah, yeah. Night.” He mumbled, pressing the little red button on his phone before letting it fall onto the other side of the bed. He slipped right into the realm of unconsciousness after that.

* * *

Eddie had watched Waylon closely over the course of the next two days. He’d begun his search by finding the blonde as he popped out of a convenience store on the other end of town. But his little darling was clever; Eddie was fairly sure that the man had detected him on his way home that same night.

It seemed that the man was wary of his surroundings for the next couple of nights as well. Eddie was confused; he thought he’d been disguising himself well. In and out of stores, down random alleys that happened to be near Waylon’s apartment. Maybe it was because of the desolate area that the man called home; it was on the poorer side of town after all, and it didn’t seem like many people lived there. 

On the third night, the street had seemed extra quiet for some strange reason when Eddie walked around. Good; tonight was the night. He was going to take his little darling from his home and slit his throat once he dragged him down into his basement. Well, maybe not that _specifically._ He had a lot of ideas as to what he could do to the man.

Eddie stood beside a dumpster just beside Waylon’s small apartment complex. The stairs and balcony leading up to Waylon’s section gave off just the appropriate amount of shade to conceal Eddie’s form lurking nearby when the blonde finally began his trek up the stairs.

The tailor waited, smirking when he heard the main lock click into place; but not the deadbolt. Good. That would make his job much easier when he went to pick the lock.

He was far from amateur in the whole serial-killer business. Hell, even the media thought that the murders he had so graciously committed on his own had been done by numerous people. Eddie smiled at the thought; he could even call himself _proud_ of his work.

The small creaking of the floorboards finally ended, and only minutes later the small light from the window above flickered off. The small parking lot was left completely drenched in darkness besides a street lamp just a few yards down the block. Eddie knew he had to wait longer; a sleeping target was an easy target, after all.

After another half an hour of waiting, Eddie finally decided it was time to make the short journey towards Waylon’s apartment door. He was light on his feet, only spurring two creaks from the wooden floorboards beneath him before he was standing in front of Waylon’s door.

Eddie reached into the pocket of his coat, pushing past a bottle and a few pieces of cloth before locating the small metal piece he used for picking locks. With gloved hands, he reached forward and gripped the handle securely as he worked the piece into position.

He even timed himself. After only nine seconds of fidgeting with the mechanism, he heard the small shifting of the lock on the other side of the door before it opened with relative ease. Eddie slid inside, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could while peering around the doorframe and nearby walls. There was no security system set up. Perfect.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie put the metal piece back into his pocket and reached for the bottle and cloth instead. He doused a strip in a decent amount of chemicals before sealing the lid back up and looking for the bedroom.

Eddie walked past the living room and kitchen, moving even slower as he walked down a small hallway that could only be where Waylon was lying asleep presently. He sucked in a short breath, gently pushing a door open that led to a small bathroom. 

Only one more door remained in the hall. As quietly as he could, Eddie pushed the semi-open door the rest of the way, sparing a glance into the cramped space. There he found Waylon, lying stomach-down on his bed with the gentlest of expressions on his face.

The larger man nearly chuckled at the sight. His darling appeared to have just collapsed onto his bed without bothering to change into night clothes. He wore a baseball shirt with a white front and light orange sleeves, and jeans rolled up at his ankles revealing two bare feet. Eddie also took note the set of hairbands adorning one of the man’s wrists.

He didn’t give himself much more time to observe. In one quick motion Eddie stomped across the room and grabbed a tuft of Waylon’s hair, yanking his head back painfully. The blonde jolted awake, unable to let out a single noise before the cloth was placed firmly over his mouth, eyelids slowly falling closed until he was left unconscious.

Eddie was pleased with the small victory, quick to lug Waylon over his shoulder and walk him to the car he’d parked just behind the apartment complex. He grabbed the rope he always kept in the trunk, wrapping it around the man’s feet and wrists before duct-taping his mouth shut and placing him in the backseat of the car.

No, placing bodies in the trunk was a technique only for the dead ones. The live ones he could treat with care when he wanted, but the dead ones meant absolutely nothing to him. Besides; the windows of his car were blacked out from the outside world and he always clamped his victims down to make sure they wouldn’t move.

Waylon had decided to be a good boy by the time Eddie drove up to his shop again, remaining as knocked-out as ever even as Eddie dragged him down to the basement. The man tied him down onto a metal chair near far wall of the room. It wasn’t until Eddie had ripped off the duct tape did Waylon start to stir.

Eddie was spraying his hair back and changing into a new pair of gloves when he heard Waylon groan from the other end of the room. The older man turned his head, looking the blonde over quickly as his eyes opened slowly, arms shifting to adjust in their new bindings.

It wasn’t until Waylon found tried his legs too did he realize just what kind of a predicament he was in. He yelped, bursting to life while tugging further at his wrists to try and get them out of the rope. Eddie almost found it amusing.

“Now-now darling, let’s not be ridiculous.” Eddie chuckled from across the room, pulling at the bow-tie around his neck until it fell loose. He yanked it off, placing it onto the table beside him.

Waylon’s head jolted up at the sound of his voice, looking across the room until his eyes locked onto Eddie’s. The blonde froze, eyes widening as his struggles suddenly ceased. “You…?”

“The one and only.” Eddie greeted, bowing from across the room before he picked his knife up off of the table. He inspected the blade carefully while approaching Waylon.

The blonde flinched, beginning his meager struggles once more, “N-no! Stay back! I’ll- I’ll scream!” He threatened, teeth clenching as he glared Eddie down.

Eddie only laughed in response, kneeling in front of the smaller man, “I had these walls sound-proofed long ago, darling. Because of sluts like you,” He said, gesturing to the body he’d still been hesitant to remove from the room.

Waylon turned towards the direction Eddie had been pointing, letting out a small squeak as he took in the corpse lying only a few feet away, “Oh god…” The blonde mumbled, making a small gagging noise as he pulled further and further at the rope.

The tailor watched as Waylon’s attention turned back onto his bindings. Could the man not see that his struggles were futile? He was getting a bit annoyed by the lack of attention, choosing to draw it back with a quick stab into Waylon’s leg.

The blonde screamed, slumping forward from his position in the chair. Eddie began cutting the ties around Waylon’s feet while the other man whimpered, head hanging forward in complete helplessness.

“Why… Why are you doing this…?” Waylon whimpered, head tilting back up when he felt the bindings holding his legs fall around his ankles.

Eddie grunted, moving his frame over Waylon’s in order to start cutting away at the rope around his wrists, “I’m afraid that’s something for me alone to worry about, darling. All of you _whores…”_

Just as he finished cutting down the rope holding Waylon’s wrists, Eddie had the breath knocked out of him when the blonde decided to be so daring as to trust his knee up right where it’d hurt the most. Eddie wheezed, falling onto his hands and knees beside the chair as Waylon tried to make a run for the exit.

He heard a loud shriek only a few feet away, stumbling back up and glaring furiously towards where Waylon was lying face-first on the ground. Apparently the wound in his leg had brought him down to the ground; but he was still trying his best to crawl his way towards the staircase.

Eddie hissed, storming over to Waylon before grabbing him by the hair for the second time that night. The blonde cried out in pain, trying to pry Eddie’s hands off of him as the tailor flung him away from the trapdoor.

Before Waylon could do anything else Eddie was on him like a tiger on its next meal. He straddled Waylon’s hips, throwing a swift punch down to the man’s left eye.

The blonde groaned, head whipping back from the impact. But Eddie wasn’t done just yet; he threw another hard punch just below his nose. With it came a stream of Waylon’s blood; the dumb whore had most likely bitten something when his fist made impact.

“See what you’re making me do?” Eddie seethed, turning Waylon over so the blonde was stomach-down on the floor. He felt around the blonde’s back pocket before his hand traveled up toward the edge of his jeans, fingers ghosting just below the hem.

It seemed like his darling was finally catching on to what he was doing; he began to thrash and kick beneath him, spewing out a whole slew of curse words and insults as he tried grabbing at Eddie from behind.

Eddie pulled Waylon’s pants down about an inch before scoffing, letting the fabric fall back to its original position, “You’re not even worth it,” He spat, flipping Waylon onto his back again as he reached for the knife resting behind him.

“Nono, don’t-!” Waylon begged as he watched Eddie raise the knife above him, but it was already too late. In one fluid motion, the tailor slammed the blade deep into Waylon’s chest, the smaller man screaming in pain beneath him.

Waylon gurgled and chocked, hand trying to reach the knife still embedded within him but to no avail. Eddie grunted, twisting the knife inside before finally yanking it out, allowing a warm pool of blood to drip down the man’s shirt and onto the hardwood floor.

It took him a few moments, but finally all of his darling’s feeble struggles ceased, and a small line of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Eddie wiped his nose, sniffing as he used a gloved finger to swipe at the trail before standing up and flicking the blood on his knife towards Waylon’s corpse.

 _‘Finally… I thought he’d never stop struggling.’_ Eddie thought to himself, smirking as he looked over the mess of blood and organ bits slowly leaking out of Waylon’s chest. _‘Now to clean up this… Mess.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea had originally been something I'd come up with at 1:00 in the morning a couple months back; I'd posted a quick summary on tumblr as just a random thought, and it had received tons of a positive attention. When I finally announced I was going to be writing it, the encouragement I got was enough to set me en route. I hope this first chapter was o.k, it was mostly setup.
> 
> As usual, this story will have the tags updated along the way for when they become necessary, and I'll put any serious warnings required in beginning notes.
> 
> For updates/notifications/art on Ghosting, visit [here](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/tagged/ghosting/).


	2. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie starts to feel off before a specter arrives to bite him in the ass.

_“Homosexuality is a sin against god. An abomination; do you understand me, boy?”_

_“Yes, father.”_

_“Good. Take off your shirt.”_

Eddie jolted awake, eyes searching the room frantically. Once he realized that he was still in his home, sleeping in his own bed, he lowered his shoulders and threw the sheets off of his legs. There was no time to waste; his day would be filled with driving.

As soon as his feet met the hardwood floor, something felt… Wrong. Really wrong. Eddie couldn’t figure out what it was. Something in his chest felt hollow, incomplete. It wasn’t acting as too much of a nuisance, though. He decided to ignore it for time being and get through the day first.

He didn’t bother putting on fresh clothes until after he’d eaten breakfast and cleaned up his kitchen from the night before. Not that there was much to clean; his home was usually kept pristine and free of clutter. Once Eddie was done with his morning routine, he headed down into the basement to check on his ‘darlings’.

Eddie took a dingy black sweatshirt off of the hook by the bottom of the staircase, pulling on his black gloves and a ripped up baseball hat. Next were his shoes, kicked off in exchange for a dirty pair of sneakers. That was the thing about carrying corpses; he always made himself look like the average dirty criminal, a far cry from his usual formal getup. He hated wearing the lazy garments, but knew they were a necessity.

Once he was done changing, Eddie glanced over at the two bodies propped up by their necks in the corner of the room. Both had been sterilized, eyes closed as if in gentle sleep. He didn’t want them making a mess of his basement floor, after all... Well, making it messier than it already was.

It took a good twenty minutes, but Eddie managed to get both men locked away in the trunk of his car. His first victim, David, had been a fairly light soul to carry while Waylon was… Surprisingly heavier than he looked. Had it been easier the night before?

Wiping a bead of sweat off of his forehead, Eddie proceeded to pull the hood up over his hat before he began changing the license plates on his car. When he was finished, he took a long transparent strip of stickers and stuck it to the back window of his car. If he was going to disguise himself in broad daylight, he’d at least be good about how he approached it.

The adjustments to his vehicle were a precaution in case he was either pulled over or spotted by hidden security cameras. His car was a black Audi A3 that he’d bought to replace his color-matching 1952 Buick. He couldn’t just drive to and from locations in his beloved vehicle; anybody would be able to identify it, plates changed or not.

Eddie glanced over to the other vehicle in the garage that had long since been covered by a thick brown tarp. He let himself smile nostalgically before focusing back on the task at hand; he moved into the driver’s side of the Audi, starting the engine.

So. First he’d be taking an eight-hour drive to and from Sego, Utah to leave David. On his drive back, he’d go further to Fairplay, Colorado for Waylon. Simple enough; if he was lucky with traffic and if there were no interferences, then he’d be back by 6 PM.

It took a lot of planning, driving and determination to be able to discard all of his victims. Sometimes Eddie felt he deserved a vacation just for carrying them out. The end result was always what made things worth it; one less whore in the world for their creator to banish to the eternal depths of hell.

A great feature his Audi had was giving him the ability to listening to his old record music back from the 40’s up to the early 60’s. Eddie didn’t know much about modern technology, and he was far from being up-to-date, but at the very least he knew how a music plug-in worked so he didn’t have to lose any of the sanity he still had left while driving.

David had been easy enough to part with. Eddie had stopped on the side of a woodland road that no one lived on and disposed of him right there. But Waylon… Waylon had been a different story.

Once Eddie had reached the edge of Fairplay, he pulled up to a lake he’d passed by on the drive there. He wasn’t going to toss Waylon in, no. Eddie left Waylon on the dirty sand just by the edge of the water where he could be seen if any walkers passed by.

He’d stared at Waylon for a full minute before the strange feeling from earlier that morning increased tenfold. Eddie hissed, kneeling on the ground as he brought a hand to his aching chest. The hollow feeling now felt more like somebody was sucking the life out of him. When he looked back over to Waylon the pain stopped, vanishing as soon as it had come.

Eddie shook his head, standing back up as his eyes landed on a group of celandines growing on the side of the road just above them. The bright yellow hue they had reminded him of the man that lay dead at his feet; so beautiful, so delicate.

The tailor sighed, grabbing a handful of the flowers before walking back over to Waylon’s body. He brought the man’s hands over his chest, sliding the celandines under them. Almost as an afterthought, Eddie took one of the stems from Waylon’s pale hands, placing it behind his ear.

“Goodbye, darling.” Eddie mumbled, walking back up the small steep before climbing into his car. He almost felt sad leaving him there. Almost.

He’d ended up back at home at the predicted hour. Eddie spent little to no time making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to quench his hunger before plopping down on the couch, exhausted.

Eddie still had a commission he needed to finish in two weeks. It was for some woman and her bridesmaids, and he hadn’t gotten much work done over the last week. He got up, deciding to hit the hay early and start working on the dresses bright and early when morning rolled around. 

On his way to his room, Eddie glanced at the spinet piano resting on the wall nearby. He felt a slight tug at his heartstrings at the sight of the instrument. It’d been with his family for god knows how long, and it was still in near-perfect condition. It’d really belonged to his mother, but she’d left it for him when she’d passed on. It’d been so long since he’d played…

No. No, not today. He was going to bed. Enough with the negative thoughts; he had work to do.

* * *

A few days passed, and the feeling inside of Eddie’s chest only grew heavier and heavier. Sometimes he had to excuse himself while talking with a customer just so he could collapse in the backroom and ride out the horrible feeling of his life force slowly being yanked out from his stomach.

He went to see a doctor about it on the second day. Symptoms like the ones he was having weren’t something you could just brush off as a cramp or ache; it felt serious. After extensive testing, the doctors couldn’t come up with anything for his illness. Nothing was physically wrong with him.

The pain continued. After the third day of suffering through it, his chest began to feel cold. Colder, colder, colder. It was slowly driving him mad. Well, he’d never been the most stable person to begin with, but this was just excessive.

One night, when he was having an especially bad fit, the T.V. had been playing the local news on the kitchen counter. Eddie’s breathing nearly ceased when one report flickered over to a missing person found dead; Waylon Park.

The tailor’s eyes had locked onto the screen once the name popped up, his entire body going rigid. He’d never cared about the reports from any of the other sluts he’d dealt with before, what was going on with this one?

The cold and pain stopped once a picture popped up on-screen, and suddenly Eddie’s entire chest began to feel warm. Then it got warmer. And warmer. After a minute of growing in temperature, his chest felt hot enough that he was sure his skin would start melting off. 

Eddie choked on his breath as he collapsed onto the tile floor, breaking out into a sweat as his entire body shook in fidgeted. The doctors said there was nothing wrong with him; well, now he was sure despite the diagnosis there was in fact something very, _very_ wrong with him.

* * *

Miles sat in the metallic room, leg bouncing up and down beside him while his hand remained firmly over his mouth as if in thought. The reporter felt tears threatening by the corners of his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them out. He _couldn’t._

“Mr. Upshur? Are you feeling alright? Would you like to leave?” A woman’s voice asked near the door.

Miles placed a hand on the table in front of him, glancing over his shoulder, _“No,”_ He said, voice cracking. He gulped, trying again. ”No, just… I need a minute.”

The woman nodded, turning back towards the exit. Once Miles heard the click signaling that he was alone, he turned back to the person lying limp on the table in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, chair legs squeaking as he moved to a stand.

“I’m sorry,” Miles breathed, placing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’m so sorry this happened. You’re… Waylon, I’m sorry.”

The brunette scanned over what was left of his friend, pausing when his eyes traveled up to the blonde’s face. Miles remembered looking through the reports; everything, _everything_ they couldn’t find on the one responsible for this. No fingerprints, no hairs- nothing. A new flare of anger sparked in Miles’ chest at the thought.

“I’m going to find out who did this, Waylon.” Miles mumbled, looking down at the floor. He just couldn’t bring himself to look back up at his lifeless friend. “Your parents… They want to have this whole ceremony after they cremated you but… They’re waiting ‘till they have the money to pull off something crazy.” The reporter looked around the clean, metal room, letting out a tired chuckle. “Sorry you have to stay in this dumb place for a while.”

Miles looked back up to Waylon one last time, particularly to his ear. He remembered the photographs, how he’d been laid out with celandines over his ear and chest. What kind of sick fuck would take the time to do that, after everything else?

His mind raced to what had happened to Waylon, everything that’d been found on him. Miles couldn’t take it anymore; he stormed out of the facility, already prepared to start his hunt for the person that was going to pay for what they did.

He was an investigative journalist. He was going to investigate.

* * *

The awful pains and emptiness Eddie had been feeling stopped a week later. He was relieved when it was finally over; until it got replaced by something much worse.

Eddie plopped into bed, tired out from a whole day’s worth of horrible customers and sewing.

_WOOSH._

Eddie remained stone-faced as a woman screamed at him, bitching that he didn’t use the daffodil-colored fabric for her ball dress like she’d requested (Which, he _had._ Maybe he should kill this woman, too). 

_WOOSH._

Eddie decided to treat himself, cooking a beef bourguignon and pulling out an old bottle of wine.

_WOOSH._

Eddie made sure the garage door was shut, closing all of the entrances and locking the windows up tight before checking to make sure he hadn’t accidentally turned a ceiling fan on.

_WOOSH._

Eddie tapped repeatedly on his workroom desk with a pencil, unable to concentrate on his sketches while he kept feeling that awful rush of wind on the back of his neck.

_WOOSH._

That was it. Eddie yelled out in a way that would remind most people of Charlie Brown as he stormed out of the room, knocking over a table beside the front desk in his fit of anger. He scratched the back of his neck furiously, breathing labored as he knocked the table further across the room.

Eddie was glad that he’d closed the shop already so he could let out all of his pent-up anger privately. He almost _wanted_ the pains to come back if it meant getting the annoying breeze off of his neck. It was a sensation close to torture.

Once he came down from his high, Eddie glanced at all of the papers he’d knocked over on the way out. He huffed, running a hand through his strip of black hair before kneeling down and collecting his things. At least there wasn’t much to fix; just a few pens and a stack of papers.

When he propped the table back up and placed the items on top of it, he noticed something lying on the ground out of the corner of his eye. He looked down, pausing when he took a look at the brownish-green item.

Slowly, Eddie reached down to inspect it. Some pieces crumbled away when he picked it up, but what it’d once been was obvious to him. Petals shriveling away, a once leafy stem… They were celandines.

Eddie sucked in a breath, dropping the dead flowers onto the floor. Why did he have celandines inside? He had an array of fake roses placed here and there on the shelves around the room, but nothing was real.

It was after dark, so the main area of the shop wasn’t illuminated. The only lights on were the ones in the apartment section of his shop above, and the lamp he kept on the desk back in his workroom.

The tailor narrowed his eyes, picking the flowers up off of the ground once more to discard them into the trash bin nearby. Eddie shook his head, pushing the door to his workroom open. He checked the soles of his oxfords to make sure he hadn’t stepped on any of the fallen petals before looking back up.

Eddie gasped, backing up into the wall when he noticed a silhouette standing in the corner of his workroom. Whoever it was had their head tilted to the side, posture horrifyingly still. He couldn’t tell who it was; if he hadn’t looked as hard, they could almost be considered a shadow.

The tailor tried his best to calm his breathing down as he reached for the pocket knife he always kept handy in his slacks. This intruder may have nearly given him a heart-attack, but they wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.

Eddie waited for them to make the first move, flicking the knife open behind his back. What he really wanted to know was how this person managed to break into his shop and sneak into his workroom; the only doors leading in or out included the entrance of the shop, garage door, and the basement latch.

Had they… Hid in his basement? Oh, now they _had_ to die. _No one_ could know and live to spread the word of what he’d done. Eddie’s breathing hitched silently as the person crept around the desk, purposefully avoiding the only light available to reveal them.

Well, it was now or never. In one perfect toss, Eddie threw the knife across the room directly into the person’s chest. There was just one problem; the knife didn’t hit. It went straight through their abdomen, piercing the far wall instead.

Eddie didn’t have a second more to think before the person was there, kicking him back into the partially-open door and into the shop. The tailor grunted as his back connected with the floor, watching the person stalk towards him.

The person paused beside the table, glancing over to his trash bin before looking back at Eddie. Finally, they spoke. “What, you didn’t like my gift?”

The tailor froze on the spot, standing up carefully as he tried to get a good look at the person still bathed in darkness, “You broke into my shop, my home. You…” Eddie’s anger flared as he moved forward, throwing a fist to where the person’s nose would be. “…Fucking whore!”

The person dodged Eddie’s fist easily, moving faster than any human should be able to before throwing a punch of his own to Eddie’s jaw. The tailor reeled back, anger rising as he tried hitting the person’s chest. But the same thing happened to his fist as the knife from minutes before; it went straight through them.

Eddie yanked his fist back, choosing instead to race over to the light switch in the corner of the room. He panted, hitting the one that lit up the back half of the shop. Darkness, be gone.

When Eddie turned around to see who’d disrupted his peace and attacked him, he jumped back in surprise. Standing just a few feet away was a man… but not just any man. He was currently using an elastic attached to his wrist to pull his blonde hair back into a tiny ponytail. Waylon-fucking-Park.

“Y-you…?” Eddie said, brow twitching as he brought his gloved hand down from the light switch. “What… You disgusting slut, how is this possible?! I thought you were dead!”

The blonde chuckled humorously, leaning over onto the desk lazily, “Oh believe me,” He said, eyes dark. “I am. Fuck you, by the way.”

It was then that Eddie noticed that Waylon… Wasn’t really all there. He looked near-transparent, as Eddie was still able to see the room through him. The tailor was confused. He sunk down from the wall to the floor, holding his head in his hands. “What the hell is this…?”

Waylon narrowed his eyes, bringing his arms out from his sides, “It’s called, ‘You killed the shit out of me, and now I’m back to _haunt your ass.’”_ The blonde near-screamed, stalking over to Eddie furiously until he was staring him down directly.

Eddie paused, feeling a bubble of laughter rise up from his chest. After only a moment he began to laugh even harder, making Waylon take an uneasy step back. The tailor tried to calm himself down as he stood back up, leaning on the wall. “God I must be _really_ crazy for my mind to be able to come up with something like this…”

The blonde in front of him looked flabbergasted, clenching his fists by his sides, “Wake up, you idiot! I’m not just some stupid end-result of your psychotic tendencies. _I am real.”_ He said angrily, shoving Eddie’s chest further into the wall.

The tailor stopped, finally taking in the situation presented. Waylon Park, his last victim, was back from the dead. He _couldn’t_ be crazy; the man had knocked him across the room, for crying out loud.

Eddie rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. “Well, wait… This doesn’t make any sense, _how…”_

“Fuck if I know!” Waylon shrieked, cutting him off. Eddie glared, hunching over. This darling of his had quite the extensive vocabulary…

Eddie chuckled darkly, taking a step towards Waylon when he realized what the blonde’s intentions just might be. “So, what? Are you here to kill me? Get some revenge- some blood on your hands?”

Waylon took a step back, and Eddie swore he saw the blonde shiver against his words, “Screw you, I can’t do shit. I’m here to make your life a living _hell.”_ He said coldly, finally sparing another glance up at the tailor.

“What if someone came in and just happened to see you?” Eddie suggested easily.

Waylon narrowed his eyes, “You’re the only one who can see, hear, or feel me.” He said, pointing towards the dais and mirror setup across the room. When Eddie looked over, the only person looking back was himself.

The blonde gained his attention again by clearing his throat, “I don’t want to be here. You ended my life. If I could leave, I would. I’d die all over again if it meant staying away from you.” Waylon said, teeth grinding against each other as he forced out the words.

Eddie turned back to Waylon, tilting his head curiously. “Why wouldn’t you be able to leave?”

“I’m bound to this shop. This is where I died.” Waylon said simply, still angry as ever.

The tailor clicked his tongue, looking back and forth between Waylon and the mirrors. Still, nothing. Was this even real life, or was he dreaming? He didn’t know. He _had_ to be going mad now…

Eddie decided to ask more logical questions, “Was that annoying breeze and constant pains coming from you?” He asked, ready to throw down if the answer was ‘yes’.

“The feeling on the back of your neck was me.” Waylon said proudly, smirking. “But I don’t know anything about your weird old-man syndrome. What are you anyway, fifty-nine?”

The tailor glared back. “Forty-six.”

“Aha, I actually didn’t give a shit, sorry if I made it seem like I did. Wait- no I’m not.”

Goddamn, this new ghost of his sure was a pain in the ass. Eddie had so many questions, but he had a feeling that none of them would have answers if the one that could give them was just a whore. Waylon didn’t seem to like him too much. Good. The feeling was mutual. 

Waylon grunted, turning away to end the conversation. “I’m going to sleep. Night _jackass.”_ The blonde mumbled, moving to the staircase that led to his apartment on the far side of the room.

“Oh hell no, you slut.” Eddie growled, already moving after Waylon. “Why would you even need to sleep?! You’re dead!”

“I can because I’m tired- tired of _you.”_ Waylon taunted, and his muffled voice gave away that he was already in the apartment. “Besides, I’ve been doing this for the last three days. You just haven’t seen me.”

Eddie swore if he found the ghost sleeping on his bed, he was going to find a way to slaughter him _again._ He didn’t care what it took; he’d do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angry specter-Waylon has arrived, Miles is pissed, and Eddie has no idea what to do with himself! How will things go from here? You'll see soon enough... :)


	3. Vexing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon pulls some ghostly shenanigans.

_Where the light shivers offshore, through the tides of oceans, we are shining in the rising sun…_

Eddie sat in bed, sheets pulled up over his legs. He had dark circles under his eyes from a rough night’s sleep, dreaming about all of things he wished he’d never dream. Wishes that were never granted.

In his most recent nightmare, Eddie had woken up in a cold sweat approximately six times within the course of the night. He’d kept track of the clock, too; 11:01 PM, 12:56 AM, 2:12 AM, 2:46 AM, 3:22 AM, and 5:06 AM. Almost every hour.

Sadly enough, he’d remember all of the dreams. Most were repeated memories from the past; his father, his mother, his uncle, his first victim. When any of the sluts appeared in his dreams, they looked… Inhuman. Some twisted demons with ripped flesh unearthed from the deepest depths of hell. Sometimes all of them would band together, coming back to haunt him.

That was when Eddie’s train of thought snapped to the night before; how one of them had pulled away from his dreams and floated (Quite literally) into reality. He didn’t look hellish from what he would remember—Maybe that was a start.

Had that even happened at all? Or was it just one of his sick dreams? Eddie shook his head, tossing the bedsheets over his legs. He looked down at his bare torso; all he had on was a pair of black pajama bottoms but now that he was up, he decided on saving actual clothes for a later time.

Eddie pushed his cracked bedroom door the rest of the way open into the living room, head whipping towards a silhouette that was currently sprawled out on his couch. He narrowed his eyes, stalking beside the whore known as Waylon Park having a good night’s rest while he was kept awake through endless hallucinations. That ungrateful bitch.

Unable to take his anger out on anything else, Eddie kicked Waylon off of the couch. He was more than surprised when his foot actually connected with the cold flesh of the dead man beneath him, the blonde waking up with a start.

Eddie couldn’t help but smirk with satisfaction as Waylon pushed himself up off of the carpet, grumbling under his breath as he sent a glare in the tailor’s direction, “Thanks, asshat. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” The blonde mumbled, rubbing his side.

Back to the wide-awake bitch he was, eh? Eddie growled, hand shooting forward to grab Waylon’s neck but to no avail. His hand went straight through the small man, the blonde taking a hold of his wrist mid-yawn. “Really? You want to play that card again?”

Eddie was expecting to be thrown across the room, or for his wrist to be shoved hard enough that it would snap his arm the wrong way, dislocating his shoulder. Instead Waylon huffed, tossing his wrist away lazily as he picked his feet up off of the ground, moving towards the window in the corner of the room.

The blonde kept his back turned to him, staring down towards the empty street below while Eddie refused to move a muscle. The tailor piqued an eyebrow, taking a few steps back until he was in the comforts of his kitchen, “How come I could touch you just now?” He asked, opening the refrigerator door.

Waylon looked over his shoulder for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t exactly call that a ‘touch’.”

“Whatever.” Eddie sighed, pulling out a gallon of milk and three kiwis, “I just want to know what advantages I can and cannot have in this…” He rolled his eyes, glaring at Waylon’s back. “…Relationship.”

Waylon let out a lifeless laugh, moving away from the window and back onto the living room couch, “Wow, a real lady-killer aren’t you?” He tantalized, tossing his arms over the back of the sofa. “I’m new to this whole, ‘being dead’ thing. I still gotta work out the kinks.”

Eddie paused, trying to contain the grin creeping its way towards the surface of his skin. He grabbed a knife from the drawer, starting to slice into one of his kiwis. “So you can’t control it, huh? The hidden message I’m getting from this is that I _do_ have the ability to feel along with hear and see, but you’re the one in control of it.”

The blonde paused, narrowing his eyes right back at the tailor, “Don’t get any funny ideas.” He grunted, standing back up. Eddie could tell he was restless; it showed in every little shuffle and twitch. Waylon trotted over to the kitchen counter, looking like he was about to sit down on one of the stools before he opted to stare at it uncomfortably.

The motion didn’t get past Eddie. He put the fruit slices onto a small paper plate, pulling out a glass from the shelf above. “What, can’t sit down?”

Waylon didn’t answer; he continued to glare at the chair instead. Eddie let out a snort, slamming the glass down a bit harder that necessary in order to regain the specter’s attention. “So you can’t.”

After another moment of silence Waylon huffed, sliding onto the chair uneasily, “I can sit,” He said, fidgeting. “I just have to keep myself upright. Let’s see…”

Eddie poured himself a glass of milk, putting the gallon back into the fridge, “The newbie ghost. Part-time slut, part-time pain-in-my-ass. Both not exclusive.” He larger of the two mumbled, taking a few small sips of milk.

The blonde continued to look uncomfortable propped up on the stool, but a second of positioning later he managed to collect himself enough to stare down at Eddie’s plat of kiwi slices. “…You eat kiwis unusually.”

The tailor put his drink down, taking a slice of kiwi and biting into it. He chewed slow, tilting his head down towards Waylon. If there was anything he could be proud of over this little annoyance, it was their height difference. “How so?”

“You’re supposed to cut them in half and then scoop it out.” Waylon mumbled, making a scooping gesture with his hand. He didn’t seem to have the energy to challenge Eddie so early in the morning.

“See, now that’s where you’re wrong.” Eddie chuckled, finishing off two more slices. “It’s much more efficient to eat them this way. You think you’re right? Show me.”

He knew, with Waylon’s uncomfortableness with the chair, that he wouldn’t be able to eat a kiwi much less grasp one in his transparent hands. The blonde only glared harder at the fruit, scoffing. “Real funny.”

Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle wickedly at his small victory, cutting more slices. As he did so, he felt a small breeze scrape across the back of his neck, much like what’d been happening before Waylon had revealed himself. He paused, glaring at the short ghost who was now smirking in his stool.

“Something the matter?” Waylon asked, brining himself back down to the floor. His grin only grew wider as the scratching underneath Eddie’s skin intensified, sharper, sharper.

The tailor growled, scratching at the back of his neck in the hopes that the small bursts of pain would stop. When it didn’t, he sent another look Waylon’s way. “You whore, cut that out.”

Waylon chuckled, and suddenly Eddie’s entire spinal cord was under the damned trick. Eddie hissed angrily, leaning over onto the counter in order to stabilize himself, “Slut,” He took a small step forward, one that he knew Waylon would barely notice. “You’ll…”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence before lunging for Waylon, snagging the collar of the shirt in his deft fingers before tossing him into the counter. The ghost seemed to have lost most control over his body while tormenting Eddie, allowing the larger man to attack. Good; now was his chance.

The blonde gasped as his back hit the counter, trying to stand back up as Eddie grabbed for him. He wrapped his hands around Waylon’s throat, trying to constrict the cold, steely, see-through skin presented. The itch on the back of his neck ceased, and Waylon collapsed onto the floor right through his fingers.

“D-dammit…” The blonde cursed, teeth clenched as he rubbed at his throat.

Eddie huffed, brushing the wrinkles out of his clothes as he stared the annoying specter down, “I know I can’t kill you if you’re already dead,” He said, nudging a foot into Waylon’s side. “So get up, you crazy bitch.”

Waylon paused, sending Eddie one last glare before his frame flickered over to the staircase that lead down to the shop. After another flash of light, he was gone.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, but decided against looking for the slut in favor of getting ready for the day. He wouldn’t give him any time.

Once he was up and in business, Waylon Park’s actions didn’t get any better.

He’d only had one client come in the whole day with a request eerily similar to Waylon’s when he’d first seen him. Eddie had shrugged the thought off while Waylon had chosen to sit in the corner, screaming random things in his direction while he dealt with the woman in his shop. Some of the remarks were fairly immature, actually.

Working on suits, dresses, alterations; it didn’t matter. Waylon was there every second, doing _something_ irritating. Eddie tried to not let it get to him; externally, anyway. Internally he wanted to start screaming and strangle the whore into another after-life where he couldn’t be a burden anymore. The specter was, to say the least, infuriating.

It seemed the ghost had been managing better control over what Eddie could and could not do, if only a little. He only let his focus slip once during a particularly furious stab of pain to Eddie’s back, allowing the much larger man to land a punch into the dumb blonde’s nose.

It was a few hours before closing when Waylon became restless while watching Eddie’s work.

“This sucks.” Waylon grumbled through his tongue, raising his shoulders high. “I can’t touch anything, I can’t do anything… God, if I was in the same plane of existence as you then this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“A different plane, huh?” Eddie grumbled, completely uninterested with what Waylon had to say. If he at least acknowledged him, then maybe the horrid pains would stop.

Waylon made a sound of distaste as he stuck his tongue out, “I’m going back upstairs to see if I can fuck with some of your stuff. Who knows, maybe it’ll be another spooky ghost-power I can gain.” He said, and after a flash of light he was gone and Eddie was brought back on track again.

He knew Waylon wouldn’t be able to do anything with his collections upstairs. The blonde had made it quite obvious earlier that through the laws and rules of sticking around his place of business, he wouldn’t be able to do much more than irritate and vex him.

Hours passed in tranquility, and Eddie was glad. When it came time to close the shop, he flipped the sign and stretched his back, thankful that it’d been a slow day customer-wise. Waylon would’ve made him snap at one of them if he’d continued his antics (Which he came close with the woman and her slutty, pompous self).

He was walking up the stairwell when he heard a faint noise coming from the living room of his apartment-half. Eddie couldn’t identify it right away; it was too quiet to sense anything other than a slight hum through the thick walls and the front door. Once he unlocked the entryway, however, Eddie knew exactly what it was.

The man froze, a strange feeling overcoming all other senses before it dissolved into a boiling anger. He kicked the door shut, tossing his keys onto the shelf nearby before storming down the hall and into the living room. Sure enough there was Waylon, sitting calmly at his old spinet piano.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Eddie demanded, grabbing the unfocused blonde by the back of his shirt and yanking him off of the chair.

Waylon jumped in surprise at the sudden movement, fingers sliding off of the keys they were pressed to as he fell over. He sat on the floor in a manner so pathetic it made Eddie that much angrier, kicking the piano’s chair back into place.

“I used to play piano with my friend,” Waylon mumbled, still slumped over on the hardwood floor. “I just wanted to play something.”

Eddie ground his teeth together, kicking Waylon in the side. The ghost simply let him, curling in on himself as if he didn’t have any of his infinite strength left. The tailor couldn’t stand it; who the hell did this guy think he was?

“I don’t give a _damn_ about you or your friend,” Eddie yelled, watching Waylon’s pathetic excuse of a ‘life’ shift beneath him. “Stay away from it.”

As he debated over what he should do next, Eddie heard a small sniff coming from the small man just a few feet away. He paused; then suddenly, a dawning realization took over all previous thoughts. He turned, looking between the piano and Waylon a few times before his eyes locked onto the blonde.

Wait… Something was wrong. Eddie furrowed his brows, “Wait- How… How can you play it? I thought you couldn’t touch anything?” He asked, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

Waylon pushed himself up enough that he wouldn’t be lying down, but he still refused to cast a single glance towards Eddie even as he spoke, “I don’t know.” The blonde admitted, and by his tone Eddie was almost sure he wasn’t lying. Waylon coughed. “Like I said before, I’m new to this whole ‘death’ thing. Even I came to learn, I can’t talk about what I know; it’s kinda like the curse from the movie, ‘Howl’s Moving Castle.’”

Eddie rolled his eyes, approaching Waylon, carefully this time in order to yank him up into a standing position. He didn’t do anything else though, violently or non-violently. He walked into the kitchen, ready to prepare himself something for dinner. All Eddie could say was that he just hated seeing someone so puny sulking all over his polished floors.

He continued to ignore the specter; at least, until the nuisance decided to speak up again, “Have…” A sniff, and Eddie had to force himself not to roll his eyes. “Have you seen Howl’s?”

The tailor tossed a pan onto the stove, turning the burner on as he responded. “I’ve read a book of the same title.”

Waylon hummed, rubbing at his eyes, “Well, it’s an animated movie, too.” He mumbled quietly, and this time, Eddie did roll his eyes.

“Great.”

Eddie didn’t care much about anything Waylon had to say at this point. It seemed like he was struggling for some kind of conversation, which the tailor found a bit odd. When he was alive, he’d seemed to be all sunshine and rainbows. He dies, drops the happy act, and goes through mood swings? Oh great, was he going to be downcast along with the rest now, too?

The blonde didn’t bother saying much else as he prepared the food. In the end it was just a simple spaghetti-meatball dinner, but Eddie could see out of the corner of his eye Waylon’s longing stare at the food. When he tried to catch him in the act the phantom was only sitting on the couch, looking off into space.

When Eddie started cleaning up the dishes, he heard a faint mumble from where Waylon sat. He tiled his head, looking over to him. “I can’t hear you, you know.”

“Why did you kill me?” He asked, only a fraction of a bit louder than before.

Well, that was certainly a question. Eddie tapped his fingers onto the counter, debating whether he should give him a reason or not. Not like he could tell anyone, right?

The blonde continued to stare at him with that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, dropping his willpower tenfold. God, what a _whore._ How dare someone do that to him; a man, even. Eddie wanted to go right ahead and strangle Waylon some more, but he knew that he would be easily stopped and/or overpowered trying.

Eddie sighed, dropping his hand from the counter. “I’m not a filthy homosexual. I know what I want, and what I want is for you to die.”

Waylon seemed taken aback by the answer, eyebrows raised. “Why… Did you think I was attracted to you or something? That’s not a very good head space to be in if you’re thinking gay people are…”

“Leave.” Eddie hissed, fingers tracing over the plate he had yet to fill up with noodles.

“I… I don’t think that…” Waylon tried again, standing up from his position on the couch.

 _“Leave!”_ Eddie roared, grabbing the plate before whipping it like a frisbee in Waylon’s direction. The blonde yelped, covering his ears as the dish collided with the wall behind him, shattering into a dozen pieces.

Eddie made a low growl in the back of his throat, watching as Waylon turned back to give him a frightened stare before flickering away to god knows where. Eddie didn’t know, and didn’t care as he breathed hard, staring at the remnants of plate across the room.

 _“Look at what you did, now! You wait until your good ol’ dad gets home, boy. You’re_ toast.”

Eddie yelled out angrily, gripping the sides of his head as a sudden wave of pain burst behind his eyelids. He shoved most of the contents of the kitchen counter onto the floor, hissing as a small knife cut across the flesh of his palm in the process. Blood leaked down to the floor, dripping a rhythmic drip every couple of seconds.

The wound only furthered his anger, thrusting him into the living room where he knocked a tall lamp over. Good thing it was a Friday; his shop was closed on Saturdays and Sundays, meaning he had all weekend to clean up the little mess he’d made. No way in hell did he feel like doing anything similar in his moment of rage.

He tried to focus on something, anything to get his attention away from thoughts of killing the specter in his house over and over and over again. A sewing machine, the food in his kitchen, a small laptop plugged into the kitchen outlet…

Eddie paused, staring the electronic device down. Before he even knew it his temper lowered, and he finally glanced down at his still-bleeding hand. He closed his fingers around the wound, trying to stifle the flow as he made his way to the bathroom.

A strip of gauze, a wet mop, and a full plate of food later, Eddie had the local library website open on the laptop he’d focused on earlier, typing a few words for every scoop of spaghetti he placed into his mouth. He scrolled down through his options, finding what he wanted and putting it on hold for the Leadville location.

Where Waylon had run off to, Eddie hadn’t known. Not until he was snug in his bed hours later, wide awake from the thoughts racing in and out of his mind. That was when he heard it; quiet, muffled sobs coming from the other room. His door had been left open for the most part; of course he’d hear what was happening on the other side.

That stupid whore. He wanted to kill him all over again. But first, he had a library trip to make. …In the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, very little action and a very big annoyance on the characters. But everything has an answer, I promise.


	4. Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation starts up, and Eddie needs to take a day off from all the crazy.

_As we are floating in the blue I am softly watching you; oh boy your eyes betray what burns inside you…_

_‘What kind of unfeeling ghost can still apply the concept of emotion?’_ Eddie thought, scratching his greasy hair as he picked the remnants of a broken lightbulb off of the living room floor. He was just about finished cleaning up the mess he’d made the night before; some items had been left in need of repairs.

The tailor huffed as he placed the shards into a plastic bag, sealing the handles over with quick fingers before he bothered to spare a glance towards the bay window across the room. Waylon was sitting on the dark blue cushion, back propped up against the wall as he looked down on to the street below. He hadn’t said a single word ever since Eddie decided to pull the curtains that morning.

Eddie shook his head, tossing the bag into a trash bin nearby. He began wiping off his hands and whistled, seeing if Waylon wanted to pay him any mind like the annoying bitch he was. The blonde only slumped down further, shoulders shrugging up to his ears.

It didn’t matter all that much to him, really. Eddie showered and got dressed for the day, glad for the specter’s attention to be set elsewhere. Maybe that was another thing he should look for during his trip to the library; something, written jokingly or not, about getting rid of ghosts.

Although Eddie had to admit that his life could be much worse. He could’ve been thrusted into a situation with Waylon that had the ghost out for blood; something similar to that of ‘The Ring’, ‘Poltergeist’, or maybe even ‘Dead Silence’. Instead Waylon was just a hollow shell of a man that Eddie was now, unfortunately, responsible for.

The thought was almost laughable; Eddie knew he would deserve the death that any vengeful ghost or relative would want for him. He’d wondered what it’d be like if he turned himself in; or killed _himself._ The thought of his own demise was one that Eddie had considered before. But he’d chosen to stay alive not for himself, but for saving others from people like Waylon.

It was for the best, really. He had two jobs; not one.

When Eddie walked back into the living room, he checked the window again to notice that it’d begun to rain; hard. Waylon was still sitting as frozen as ever, not appearing to have moved even a centimeter. It… was actually a bit disturbing.

Eddie cleared his throat as he grabbed his overcoat by the door, pulling it over his shoulders before making sure his tie was still in place. He spared a look of annoyance towards Waylon, “I’m going to be gone most of the day.” He mumbled, walking down the hall towards the shop door. He locked it behind himself, descending the staircase moments later.

Waylon sighed, glancing over his shoulder from the rainy window. The house was dead silent besides a small space heater running in the corner. The machine thrummed dully, already in the process of shutting down.

The blonde slid off of the window’s cushion ungracefully, padding over to the dying heater. He crouched down in front of it, placing his hands close to the little vent puffing out the last breaths of warmth. Of course, he felt none of it.

Waylon’s brows furrowed as he placed his palms even closer to the machine, hoping that some sort of heated air would spread across his pale skin. Still, nothing happened. Waylon growled, frustrated, moving even closer just to watch his hands phase through it.

He reeled back instantly, standing eerily straight as he glared down at the space heater. Waylon let out a small noise of disapproval before kicking the box, his foot moving straight into the center. Waylon made the feeble noise again, louder this time, as he walked away from the box.

The blonde rubbed his arms, shuddering, _‘Why can I still feel internal pain when I can’t even feel the warmth of a fucking space heater,’_ He thought coldly, sending a final withering glare at the now-silent device. He looked up towards the ceiling of the house, then down to the hardwood floor. _‘She’s kind and forgiving. Why would She do this to me? What did I do to deserve_ this?’

Well… when he really thought about it, She wasn’t really the one to blame. He didn’t understand anything; She’d told him that, and yet who was the real killer in the room? Waylon slumped to the floor, rubbing his hands up and down, up and down. _‘That asshole. If I had never taken Blaire’s suggestion of coming to this place…’_

Jeremy Blaire was a snobby, annoying dickwad of a boss, but Waylon knew he couldn’t blame him, either. Waylon knew the older man had just wanted him to stop bitching about wearing fancy attire to their stupid company party. How could he have known the man running it was a psycho serial killer…?

 _‘No. This is all Gluskin’s fault. He’s the one that killed me. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…’_ Waylon thought, slamming his palms down onto the floor as he let out a broken cry. This time, he spoke aloud. “Why?! Why me?!”

He rested his head against the floor, panting, _‘Why won’t my mind let me stop thinking about that selfish bastard? I hate him! Oh god, I want to die…’_ Waylon thought, standing back up on wobbly legs. His eyes trailed up slowly from the floor, to the window, to the… the piano…

The blonde smiled faintly, approaching the spinet and inspecting it closely. It reminded him of when he was a teenager, getting ready to graduate high school with Miles. Heh; his extroverted friend had convinced him to take piano lessons by his side their senior year. Waylon remembered quitting after the first month; he’d believed knowing one song would deem him a musical genius.

Waylon took a seat, fingers brushing over the dusty keys delicately. At least there was one thing he _could_ touch…

G F♯ E E E B B E B E B B F♯ G F♯ F♯ …

Waylon stopped, pulling his left hand up to join his right. Miles had told him to learn something that he’d remember his teenage years by. Which meant it had to be something about angst, emotions, some sort of sob-story. He was very dramatic.

F♯ F♯ E F♯ F♯ E F♯ E F♯ E F♯ G…

He sighed, paranoid that Eddie would walk in at any moment and kick him off the chair again while he was focused on something other than his bodily protection. Waylon wouldn’t ever truly feel the blows, but knowing he was _that_ horrid of a person for someone to have to look at every day made him stop. He really was a jackass, that Eddie Gluskin.

D D E G B E E…

“Good god, let me give you my life…” Waylon mumbled, taking his hands off of the keys. The spinet seemed unused, but the strings themselves were perfectly tuned. He couldn’t help but wonder why owning it and keeping it in order was such a huge importance to the man that had left for the day.

There he was, back to Gluskin again. Eddie had taken so much from him. His best friend, someone he’d known for eighteen years… His mom and his dad, who were most likely still deciding on what they were going to do about their dead son; they’d always told him since he was small that the hardest thing a parent would ever do was if they had to bury their children instead of vice versa. His life; he wasn’t sure what had become of his body. He’d remembered his parents always talking about how they thought cremations were the best way to send someone off into the afterlife.

Some afterlife. Waylon could feel his lip quivering as he laid his head down on the edge of the piano, a few keys accidentally hitting their strings when his elbow nudged into them. The blonde closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep.

Sleeping; that was another thing. Drifting off had become more and more difficult since his death. When he’d first come to, Waylon had been convinced he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. She had shown him how; he’d never really known why. It took a while, but eventually he’d started to get the hang of it.

Dammit, things always ended up falling back to Eddie. He was the reason Waylon couldn’t sleep, too. Did Eddie care? No, of course not. Waylon was supposed to be gone.

His homicide didn’t make much sense in Waylon’s mind. Eddie had made it out like Waylon had been leading him on, and he couldn’t deal with a homosexual tantalizing him. His homophobe levels reached far over one-hundred percent.

Yes, Waylon would admit any day that he was gay. He didn’t think it was as obvious as Eddie had made it out to be, though. Did the man even know at all? Or was he just in some sort of twisted fantasy world of his own that made him think every man wanted him? It’d make sense; Eddie clearly needed to have some sort of a mental evaluation if these were the kinds of things he was pulling off.

Waylon tried to situate himself comfortably against the spinet, sighing. Eddie was handsome, sure, but Waylon knew who he really was. He was a sick, heartless man that loved to toy with and manipulate people. And Waylon _hated_ knowing.

He wanted to sleep. He had forever to waste, after all.

* * *

Miles held the strands of hair between his fingers, inspecting the shimmering glow they gave off once directed towards the light of the bedroom windows. They were clearly blonde; and being all over Waylon’s bed, they were definitely his.

How convenient would it be that Waylon and the killer not only had the same hair color, but the same exact hair length, too? Slim to none. Miles grumbled, letting the failed evidence fall back onto the comforter as he picked up the phone in his pocket, checking his messages.

 **MUM**  
>I’m so sorry, honey. Try to visit sometime, your father and I are here for you.  
I’ll be over tomorrow, I promise. Night, mum<  
>Goodnight sweetie <3

 **REPAIR GUY**  
Are you open today? Not the station, the shop <  
> _NEW:_ Both, ‘till seven. Better hurry, we got two hours left.

 **ASSHOLE #666**  
Why <  
>You’re the one that needed the number, whiner. What do you want? Make it quick.  
I need… A tailor<  
>I will block your number and make sure you never get within five miles of the building again if you continue making references to that idiotic show.  
Fine. The files Waylon keeps in his lower left drawer, and a piece of the secretary’s ass<  
>Done, and go to hell. I meant what I said.  
I bet my contact on your phone is my full name. Keepin’ it professional<  
>Well then what’s mine, if you’re suddenly the phone expert  
>Miles Upshur  
>I am five seconds away from filing for that restraining order do you hear me

Miles rolled his eyes, opening up the last number before pressing the green ‘call’ button. He put the device on speaker while he walked back into Waylon’s kitchen, pulling out his notepad and writing down the information he’d gathered thus far.

“Jeremy Blaire speaking.”

“It’s Miles again; what, you don’t have caller I.D?” The brunette asked, blowing a clump of hair out of his eyes as he started a new row of notes.

He could hear Jeremy inhale deeply on the other end of the line, “Yes, I have goddamn caller I.D. What do you want now? You got those files.” The man said sharply, and Miles knew he probably had his arms crossed over his chest.

Miles put the writing end of his pencil onto the empty box he’d drawn, ready to go as he pulled the phone closer towards him. “Do you know where Waylon went following the party?”

Jeremy scoffed through the speaker. “No, I don’t. I don’t give a shit, either. Didn’t the landlord say that she saw him come home that night, anyway?”

“Yes, but I want to know if he stopped anywhere before that. Is there anyone at work that he didn’t get along with? Someone who he may have accidentally provoked?” Miles pressed, writing a few of the first names that popped into his head.

“He was a quiet little worker and that’s all I cared about. I hardly see my employees, let alone see them interacting with each other. A klutz, but he was always in his little room when I needed him to fix something.” Jeremy said, grunting. “Are you done?”

Miles began scribbling more, “Almost,” He mumbled, putting his pencil down. “Anywhere else Waylon went? Maybe earlier in the day?”

“I don’t know! You’re asking me, _me_ of all people these questions?” Jeremy snapped, clearly having more important things to take care of if his tone was any indication. “Goodbye, Upshur. Happy hunting.”

Miles looked back at his phone to see the flash of a dropped call lighting up the screen. He clicked the power button, putting the device back into the pocket of his jacket before closing up his notebook. Just as he got everything situated, there was a gentle knock on the front door, the landlord entering seconds later.

The brunette slung his bag over his shoulder, looking the woman up and down, “Oh… Hi again.” Miles greeted, waving a hand awkwardly as he went to meet her at the door.

The woman nodded her own greetings, looking around the small apartment, “It makes me sad, thinking about what happened to him.” The lady mumbled, bringing her hands together in front of her chest. “He was such a nice boy. Always paid rent on time, quiet, and he would say hi whenever I was around. Saddening, yes.”

At the mention of Waylon, Miles brought his notebook back out again, “I hope you don’t mind ma’am, but I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions regarding his murder.” He asked, clicking his mechanical pencil back to life.

“Like what?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You live here,” Miles began, pausing to look back up at the woman. “Can you tell me who you know that lives around this area? Or anyone that comes by often?”

The landlord tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, this side of town is fairly barren. I don’t know anyone besides the local repairman that fixes my sink every now and then. I don’t remember his name, though. Long beard, greasy guy…”

“I know who you’re talking about.” Miles said, the words coming out a bit more impatiently than he’d intended. “Anyone else? Any suspicious figures?”

The woman shrugged, “No, not really. Although sometimes I thought I would see someone in that alleyway down the road when I walked by. Figured out the other day it was just a couple of rotten trash bags piled together.” She said, pointing out the door and down the road.

Miles traced her polished finger towards its direction with his pencil in hand, scribbling the location down before closing the notebook back up and putting it into his bag. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s all I needed.”

“Take care of yourself, you hear?”

The brunette waved one last time behind his back as he descended the rickety staircase back onto the cracked pavement of the parking lot below. He got into his jeep, starting the engine before rifling around for his wallet. He checked the time on the car’s dash; 6:15. Damn. He had under an hour left.

Ten minutes and a stop for a vanilla coolata at Dunkin’ Donuts later, Miles pulled up to the dingy gas station with more than enough time to spare. The brunette pulled up his emergency brake and turned off the car, walking into the convenience store/repair shop duo the gas station offered.

The doorbell chimed gently as Miles walked inside, eyes trailing towards the front counter, “Upshur; didn’t think you’d show up ‘till the fifty.” The man standing behind the register spoke, wide grin revealing some of his missing teeth. He was an older man with a long gray beard and hair to match, face and arms grease-stained from a long day’s work.

Miles chuckled and shook his head, kicking the door shut behind him before proceeding to an aisle near the back of the shop where the hardware items were stored. “You know me too well, Frank. Nah, I’m just looking for some of your lighting stuff. Park’s needed a few bulbs changed on their cathedral ceiling and neither of them trust themselves in their age up there anymore.”

He heard Frank laugh across the store, “Next aisle over. Good you’re helping them out, though. I’m sure they aren’t up for much of anything after what happened…” The clerk trailed off, voice dipping an octave.

The brunette paused, his fingers brushing over one of the dusty light bulb packages. He grabbed it off of the shelf, heading back over towards the counter, “Yeah, I know. I’m still having trouble, y’know? I just can’t believe that he’s gone, and… the one who did it got off scot-free.” He chuckled humorlessly, tossing the package gently onto the counter along with a twenty dollar bill. “I’m gonna find them.”

Frank shook his head, pressing several buttons on the cash register as Miles eyeballed a package of sour crème and onion chips beside him. The brunette sighed, picking up the bag and placing it beside the lightbulbs.

The older man paused his typing when he noticed the bag, “Waylon’s favorites, huh?” He asked, handing over Miles’ change with a sympathetic look. “You want these in a bag?”

“Sure,” Miles replied, glancing down at the change he’d been given. “Wait, you didn’t take money for the chips.”

“On the house. Feels like you could use some cheering up. I’m sorry about what happened to Waylon; I didn’t know him well, since he only showed up with you a couple o’ times. Still, my condolences.” Frank said, pushing the now bagged items Miles’ way. “Have a good night, Upshur.”

Miles nodded, scooping up his bag as he started for the door, “Thanks, Frank. You too.” He turned back around, nearly running into the person who’d just entered the store.

The brunette jumped back at the last second, having to tilt his head up in order to glare at the man glaring right back at him. His slicked-back hair and formal attire was intimidating, but not enough to keep Miles from using his wonderful voice to express his feelings. “Watch where you’re going, asshole.”

The man clenched his teeth, but said nothing as he stepped out of Miles’ way. The brunette pushed through the door, grumbling loudly. The man turned back around once Miles was outside, seething. “The manners of some people…”

Eddie didn’t make eye-contact with the clerk as he walked to the other end of the store, pulling two packages of water bottles out of one fridge and a thirty-two-pack of Blue Moon out of another. He hated coming to places like this one; but he’d forgotten that he needed more drinks in the house earlier, so drinks he would get.

He hefted the items onto the counter with little to no trouble, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket. The clerk at the counter whistled lowly, already typing his items into the register. “Strong one, aren’t ya? That’s thirty-eight dollars.”

Eddie didn’t respond, sliding two twenties onto the counter. He took a moment to get a good look at the guy; his nametag read ‘Frank’, but he didn’t pay attention to that for very long. The man overall looked like he’d worked in a mine all day; or something of the sort.

As soon as Frank handed over his change, Eddie hefted the items back under his arms as he spoke a quick ‘thank you’. Once he was outside, he found that the man from before was long gone. Good; he hated people like that. That bastard should’ve been apologizing for not looking where he was going.

The drive back to his shop was another fifteen minutes away. Eddie had done a lot that day; he’d gotten more groceries, impulse-bought a fresh blanket for the living room, and spent a bit of time at the local library looking for books and getting the item he’d put on hold.

Once he’d pulled into the garage, Eddie began moving his purchases back and forth into the shop just to get them into a more manageable area. Once he’d taken the first trip of groceries upstairs, he’d found Waylon fast asleep on the window across the room. Had the specter even moved at all?

Three trips later, everything was where it should be. Eddie picked the library rental off of the counter and approached Waylon, who was still slumbering against the pillows like Sleeping Beauty. Wait-- no, that was a bad analogy.

Eddie held the item behind his back as he nudged Waylon awake. The blonde’s eyes opened slowly, but it seemed once he realized who was in front of him, he panicked. Waylon scrambled back, body pressed firmly against the glass as he glared the man down, a hand held forward in self-defense.

The tailor sighed, taking a step back. Controlling his anger was priority; no matter how much he wanted to punch walls at the blonde’s immediate fright. The fact that Waylon was _that afraid_ of him, even after death…

“I uh,” Eddie mumbled, bringing both of his hands behind his back. He coughed, straightening his spine to show he had at least some control over his life. “…Have a temporary peace-treaty. If you’re willing, that is.”

Waylon’s brows furrowed, and Eddie took another step back to give the smaller man space as he stepped off of his perch and back onto the carpet below. The blonde crossed his arms over his chest, sighing. “Like what, exactly?”

The older man rolled his eyes, bringing the item out from behind his back. He knew Waylon wouldn’t be able to touch it, so he stuck to holding it up for the ghost instead.

The blonde’s eyebrows shot up as he inspected the item, head tilting to the side as he read the movie case, “…Really? You _rented_ Howl’s Moving Castle?” He asked, eyes trailing back up towards Eddie.

Eddie purposefully looked away, placing the DVD case down onto the coffee table nearby as he wrung his hands together in front of his chest, “The… The book had been fine. I’d be... willing to see the movie tomorrow. The shop isn’t open again for another day, after all…” He mumbled, trying to keep his eyebrow from twitching.

It seemed Waylon enjoyed his uneasiness. That little… _‘Control your temper, control your temper…’_

“Alright,” Waylon said, shifting to the side so Eddie would be forced to look down at him, “I’ll do it. But; I’ll only do it if this treaty is not exclusive. I won’t do anything to you, but you can’t do anything to me, either. Call it practice of controlling your temper. That’s the first step to whatever you’ve got going on up here,” The blonde said, tapping his head to accentuate the point.

Eddie grumbled, blue eyes glaring down at the insufferable man he was forced to live with. “Fine.”

“Hah,” Waylon laughed, trotting into the kitchen, back turned. “Then it’s a date.”

Eddie knew he was ready to punch the little brat’s lights out if he decided made another quip like that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put the basic notes of what Waylon was playing on the piano in this chapter. I was not in the mood to write down every last note for both the left hand and right hand, but it's enough to be able to tell. It's a popular song.


	5. Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles starts his hunt, and Eddie and Waylon learn what it's like to get along.

_Whatever I feel for you, you only seem to care about you. Is there any chance you could see me too…?_

Murkoff Corp. Handy Hardware & Gasoline. 6th Street. Gluskin’s Bridal. Water World. Barnes and Noble. Cruisers. Mineral Belt Trail.

Miles closed his notebook, grunting as he slipped it back into the pocket of his jacket. He’d been compiling a list of all the places Waylon had gone within the three months prior to his death. If his friend’s apartment wasn’t going to be of any help, then the logical response would be to start investigating other people and places.

He’d started with locations he’d remembered going with Waylon. They’d both taken a trip together to Water World back in September when Miles had suggested one last summer dip before the temperature lowered. He’d also visited with him at Cruisers ever since they’d _met._ They’d been down to the old malt shop in more recent weeks as well.

Then there were places that he knew Waylon would’ve visited. The blonde frequented numerous hiking and biking trails, especially during the mid-fall season. He’d always been fond of the way the atmosphere felt while jogging up a small paved recreational trail.

Miles had been tempted to cross 6th and Handy right off of his list, but he saved them in case he needed to go back to investigate them later. They were both places he’d already checked out; Waylon’s home and Frank’s store.

Of course, there were also a few more obvious locations. Waylon was always stock-piling his book shelf by taking bookstore trips at least once a week, so he was bound to have introduced himself to at least a couple of the people working there. As for Murkoff, well… what better place to look than his own work?

Miles’ list had run much longer by the end of it all. He’d had to talk to several people in order to get more information about Waylon’s whereabouts. There’d been approximately two dozen separate locations he’d learned about through talks with Waylon’s parents and his coworkers. Even Jeremy Blaire had been a bit of help, telling him he’d sent Waylon to a middle-aged tailor’s shop for their company party before kicking Miles out of his office.

Miles stared at his feet as he walked down the sidewalk, hood pulled over his head in an attempt to keep away the rain that was pouring down from above. It was ridiculous, really; why was it still raining out? It’d been storming all weekend, and the only break they’d gotten from it was for an hour the previous night.

He’d already started checking out some of the local destinations on his list. Once the station had announced Waylon’s case as to be one of the sporadic murders that had been taking place as of late with no intentions of continuing the investigation anytime soon, Miles knew he’d take the case into his own hands. It was his _best friend_ they were talking about; no way in hell would he be able to sleep at night until the mystery was solved.

So that’s what led Miles to the old-fashioned entryway of the bridal shop. He pressed his hands against the glass door in an attempt to peek through the darkness inside, eyes only trailing to the laminated paper against the door a few moments following the silence.

Damn. It was closed on Sundays. Well, that made sense. Miles cursed himself for thinking that every locally-owned business would be available on the least-available day of the week.

 _‘Whatever. I’ll just have to come back again when I have the time,’_ He thought grumpily, shooting a quick text about work schedules to his manager before walking faster down the road and away from the eerie street resting at the edge of town.

* * *

_C-CLICK._

Eddie dragged his head up from his work at the soft clanging sound coming from just outside his workroom, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one had entered. He turned back to the flowing white dress, placing another pin carefully into the waist of the fabric before standing up and opening the door to the main room of his shop.

_CRASH._

Eddie glanced out the glass doors curiously as lighting flashed outside. The walls around him illuminated with an eerie white glow as the lighting retracted, the sky returning back to the dark gray it’d been all morning. The tailor glanced at the clock nearby; 3:56 PM. How could it be so dark out already?

The first noise he’d heard hadn’t sounded like the rumble and shock of thunder, though. It’d sounded like someone had been rapping their knuckles against glass. The older man hummed, looking over towards his shop’s front door and windows once more. When Eddie confirmed that it must’ve been his imagination playing with him he pulled the shades, and what little light streamed in from outside dissipated in an instant.

Well, there was still the light peeking out of his workroom. When Eddie had been younger, he’d had always had a fear of the dark. The tailor was never sure what had caused his change of heart but presently, he could never seem to get enough of it.

_THUNK, THUNK, THUNK._

Loud thuds hopped lightly down from where the staircase led to the living room hall, and suddenly a figure jumped down from the last two steps, landing barefoot onto the solid floor below. Eddie rolled his eyes as he passed the much shorter silhouette, the character’s hands resting behind their head.

“What, no greeting?” Waylon asked proudly, following Eddie as the man walked back into his workroom. As much as he would’ve loved to slam the door on Waylon’s pretty little face, he knew it’d be useless. The blonde would be able to phase right through it if needed.

Eddie plopped down into his chair, shaking his head as he pulled a small collection of pins out of the box beside him, “What do you want, darling?” He asked lazily, biting down onto a pin as he grabbed for the skirt of the soon-to-be wedding dress.

Waylon made a groan of distaste behind him before trudging around the table and hopping up onto the surface where Eddie had laid out three fabric selections an hour before. The tailor was about to snap at the blonde for interfering with his belongings; at least, until he remembered Waylon couldn’t touch anything.

Eddie let out a deflated groan as he pulled the extra pin out of his mouth, bringing the skirt together and placing it near the bottom along with the others. He pushed his chair closer towards Waylon’s end of the table once he was done, beginning to set up his sewing equipment.

“…I don’t think you’re aware of just how little I can do, so I thought I’d try to find a new way to pester you.” Waylon finally answered, leaning over the table before placing his chin in his palm. “What’re you working on?”

“A wedding dress,” Eddie grunted, pausing his work in order to raise an eyebrow at the bothersome specter. “I thought that would be obvious.”

The blonde hummed, glancing over towards where Eddie was starting up an intricate sewing machine. “Hm. How long have you been doing this?”

Eddie froze, thinking back to the very first time he’d received a sewing lesson from his mother. She’d been patching up… A suit?

_“Here, sit on my lap.” She offered, smiling fondly. She reached out, pulling her seven-year-old son onto her lap with a small grunt. Eddie stared down at the table full of equipment in wonder, reaching a small hand out to feel the dark gray fabric in front of them._

_His mother moved her hands out onto the table with her arms curling around him, gently grasping his hands and placing them on both sides of the sewing machine. “Alright now, here. See this line? We’ll make a straight line where I’ve already started, okay?”_

_Eddie nodded, kicking his feet back and forth gently as his mother’s hands guided him along the line of the ankle. “Can you teach me how to sew, mom?”_

_The woman laughed gently, taking her foot off of the pedal before running her hands through her son’s hair. “What would you like to make, honey?”_

_“A dress,” The young boy blurted quickly, hopping off of his mother’s lap before pulling a paper and pencil off of the table near the machine. “I’ll make lots of dresses. I’ll make a pretty dress for a pretty girl.”_

Eddie closed his eyes, hands clenching against the roll of thread in his grip. He took a deep breath, blinking down at the fabrics. “A very, very long time.”

“Who taught you?”

“I’d prefer to change the subject, darling.” Eddie spat, snapping the spool into the machine before pulling the end of the thread back through the mechanics.

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy-Pants.” Waylon grumbled, glancing down at the fabrics he was laying atop of. He sat up, pressing his hands against the three different colors. “What’re these here for?”

“Will you ever stop asking questions?” Eddie snapped, kicking the machine’s pedal over with his foot before moving back to the pinned-up fabric of the wedding gown. “It’s quite irritating.”

He could see Waylon narrowing his eyes as he pulled the fabric over the small mannequin, moving bits and pieces off to the side as he picked up another roll of thread and a needle, “How much human interaction do you get in a year? It’s a simple question,” Waylon retorted, gesturing back to the layout.

Eddie started his work carefully, tilting his head down, “I couldn’t decide which color to use for the shirt.” The tailor paused, furrowing his brows before sparing a glance towards Waylon and the fabrics. The blonde was still staring down at them whimsically, hands moving as if he was trying to understand their feel despite his inability to do so.

Suddenly, Eddie had an idea, “Tell me,” He began, finally daring to look Waylon in the eye. “Which do you think would be best? The maroon, navy, or gray?”

Waylon craned his head towards him, a smirk lighting up his features as he kicked his feet out from under him, “Well first of all, are we talking about a dress shirt here?” He asked, receiving a shrug and a nod as a response.

The blonde hummed, running his hands along the fabrics again as he thought it over. “I think it all depends on the person, really. Can you describe them?”

Eddie remained silent, a small tinge of pink slowly creeping up his neck. Waylon continued to stare at him like he was the craziest person on planet earth (Which, he might be) before realization dawned on him, his back straightening as he pointed a finger between Eddie and the fabric. “You make your own clothes?”

The older man remained as silent as ever, neck growing warm as he hunched his shoulders and looked back down to the three fabrics in front of Waylon. The smaller man chuckled, holding his own chin in his hand as he looked back and forth between Eddie and the fabrics.

It remained silent for another minute before Waylon pointed to the navy blue fabric, “This one. Looks like blue could be your color,” The blonde mumbled as Eddie reached for the fabric, taking the time to inspect it himself.

“Oh yeah,” Waylon piped up once more, and before Eddie knew what was happening Waylon took hold of his wrist, forcing him to hold the strip of fabric up to his chest. “Yep. I’m siding with the blue. Looks nice on you.”

As Waylon went back to his previous position on top of the table, all Eddie could do was stare at the strange specter before him. He was a strange one, surely. Eddie placed the fabric back down onto the table, glancing back over towards the wedding gown he’d been working on previously. “Thank you.”

The room remained relatively silent for the next two hours. Waylon had spent a good portion of that time looking at Eddie’s sketches and paintings pinned up across the room, coming back to sit atop the table once he was done. He’d watched Eddie work on the gown after that, offering commentary or asking a question here and there to keep his mood up.

As the clock ticked by in the corner of the room, Eddie found that he didn’t mind the company all that much. Normally he’d turn on his record player or dig out a radio and play music while he worked, but he’d forgotten about both devices soon enough as he chuckled along with Waylon’s snickering.

 _“Now_ we’re getting somewhere,” Waylon cackled, leaning over onto his elbows, “I have discovered a trademark Eddie Gluskin emotion that was not annoyance or rage!” The blonde laughed, and continued to do so even as a frown fell over the older man’s features.

_“Please darling, he’s our son.”_

_“A failure is what he is. He’s just acting as an embarrassment at this point; he’s not right in the head. Can’t even get a job and now…”_

Eddie found himself blinking rapidly, his hands on his knees as he tried to regain control of his oxygen intake. He looked up, finding Waylon turned away with one of the elastics of his wrist in hand. Good, he wasn’t looking. The tailor wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the blonde seemed to be trying to tie his hair back.

The older man watched as the blonde grunted, trying and failing to get all of his hair to stay in place. The elastic would either stick messily, or it would fall right out again. Eddie had noticed before that the elastic could barely hold the man’s wild hair.

After watching several more of Waylon’s attempts with mild amusement, Eddie rolled his chair until he was sitting in front of Waylon’s frustrated face. “What are you trying to do, darling?”

“Will you stop calling me ‘darling’ all of a sudden? It’s weird,” Waylon protested, finally slumping over while fiddling with the elastic. “While you were zoning out like a weirdo I wanted to put my hair up. I don’t know what it’s doing, but I can’t get it up right. Simple.”

“Your hair has always seemed a bit too short to hold on to anything for very long,” Eddie mumbled, rolling his eyes as he held out his palm. “Give it to me.”

Waylon raised a brow, glancing down at the elastic between his fingers. “Can you even hold it?”

“I guess we’ll just have to see.”

The blonde placed the elastic into Eddie’s palm, and to both of their surprise it rested on the skin presented with ease. The tailor looked over the semi-transparent band skeptically before gesturing for Waylon to turn around.

Once the blonde shifted on his heels Eddie stood, wrapping the elastic around his wrist before securing his leather fingerless gloves and reaching for Waylon’s hair. His fingertips moved through the back of the blonde’s head in retaliation as soon as he did so.

“You’re going to have to put down your defenses if you want me to do this for you,” Eddie grumbled, reaching forward again to find his fingers sinking into the soft blonde tufts, stopping as soon as they reached solid skin. The older man nodded in approval as he began combing Waylon’s hair back with his fingers.

As he twisted the blonde strands, Eddie found that the areas where he touched Waylon would become clearer; the transparency of his hair would disappear so long as he kept his fingers there. Well, all he’d ever done before was kick and punch Waylon. It only made sense that he wouldn’t have noticed it.

It almost gave the smaller man a shred of humanity left in him.

Eddie pulled Waylon’s hair taut before twisting the elastic around what he’d gathered. Once he was done, he tugged the remainder of Waylon’s hair behind his ears, the locks curling around them naturally. He backed away, letting his hands fall slack by his sides before he moved back to start cleaning up before he went back upstairs for dinner.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see Waylon feeling the hair on the back of his head, lips pursed, “I thought you were going to do a regular ponytail?” The blonde asked curiously, tapping the microscopic ponytail once more before hopping off of the side of the table.

“It would’ve just fallen out after I put it in,” Eddie shrugged, setting the navy blue fabric aside before putting the maroon and grey options away. “Like this, your hair is out of your face and out of the way. Think reasonably, darling.”

Waylon made a small noise of protest, nudging Eddie on his way out. “I told you, don’t call me that.”

Eddie flicked a pin in his hand back and forth until he heard Waylon’s footsteps fading up the stairs. The tailor growled, throwing the pin viciously down onto the table before flicking off the light and following the specter upstairs.

* * *

“Wow, Sophie, your hair looks just like starlight! It's beautiful.”

“You think so? So do I!”

“Looks like your true love is in love with someone else. You should go home anyway, and tell your king to stop this dumb war.”

“Yes, that's exactly what I'll do. One thing you can always count on is that hearts change.”

Eddie stared firmly at the TV, one hand thrown over the back of the sofa while the other held an almost-empty bottle of the beer he’d lugged home the night before. The movie was on the brink of ending, clearly, but he couldn’t help but feel a little upset about it.

“You look like you would make a perfect 50’s working-husband photograph right now with how you’re sitting,” He heard Waylon chuckle from the opposite end of the sofa. The blonde was holding both hands up in the shape of a square pinned towards Eddie, eyes narrowed in concentration.

_“My little gentleman,” His mother chuckled softly, adjusting the bowtie her son wore. He could see the glossy look in her eyes, the older woman sucking in a faint breath. “Have fun at the dance, okay? You’ll make that girl so happy.”_

_‘No.’_ Eddie scoffed, ignoring the roll of the credits as he got up to dispose of the blue moon in his hand. He dumped the rest of its contents in the kitchen sink, dropping it into the bottle bin he kept under the kitchen counter.

When the tailor turned back around to the living room, he noticed Waylon was no longer sitting on the sofa. After a quick look-around, he realized Waylon was nowhere to be found at all.

 _‘Thank god,’_ The older man thought to himself, sparing a glance towards the clock down at the opposite end of the room. Eight-fifteen.

His eyes trailed slowly from the clock over to the spinet piano sitting on the left end of the room. Eddie stepped out of the kitchen, checking the living room for Waylon one last time before approaching the piano, pulling out the small chair.

Once he was seated, Eddie took note of the thin layer of dust coating the slick black surface. He tried sweeping the majority of it off with his gloved hand, brushing his fingers between the keys before placing them down onto the first few notes.

The only song that was coming to mind was the Merry Go Round of Life from the movie he’d just watched. Although many aspects of the Ghibli production had been different from the original story, he had to admit that the music was quite beautiful.

It was a bit ironic that he’d learned the song many years before. Although at the time of its discovery, Eddie had thought it’d just been a song someone created that was inspired by the book. But when Waylon had brought up the movie, he’d been surprised to find that it had actually been part of the production all along.

Eddie was a little rusty, but after the first minute he was getting into the groove of moving his fingers back and forth. The piano was still tuned to perfection, making it easy for him to spot the chords and notes he aimed to play. He was two minutes in when he felt a small shiver run down his spine.

“How could you know how to play that when you just saw the movie?”

Eddie’s fingers slammed down onto the keys he’d been playing before swiveling around to face Waylon, back once again with a look of curiosity on his face. Well; he supposed he couldn’t be _entirely_ mad. 

“I’d learned the sheet long ago, dar…” Eddie picked up on his mistake, clearing his throat. “I already knew how to play it.”

Waylon hummed, walking around the chair before pushing Eddie over to sit by the lower end of the piano. Eddie was about to push him off, but was cut-off by Waylon’s next words. “I assume you’re a classical kind of guy?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, placing his fingers back down over the keys. “I know several handfuls of the classics, yes. But I believe I know a few more… _Modern_ pieces as well.”

“Okay, then let’s break that category down too. How many modern pieces do you know that are just regular music covers?” Waylon asked, grinning.

The tailor looked up to the ceiling, thinking the question over hard. He didn’t usually make music of his own, and the modern piano music he knew how to play were just sheets taken off of piano-based websites. Did he even know any covers?

Finally, a memory sprung up from years before, “One,” Eddie responded, glancing back down to the piano. He had to admit, the song had been quite lovely. He was more of a swing kind of guy, but that piece had impressed him. He hadn’t understood why.

Eddie was two notes into a chord of four when Waylon stopped him, “You’ve gotta sing along with it too,” He chuckled, leaning over the opposite end of the spinet to get a better angle of the keys that were being pressed.

“No.”

“Oh come on, I can’t get a feel for the song unless someone sings along with it too. Give it some spunk, Glue-skin!”

Eddie snarled, shoving a hand into Waylon’s shoulder. It wasn’t a hard shove, but the older man was more than surprised to find it made impact. Waylon snickered in response, but didn’t hit back. Another surprise. “Come on, just do it.”

Eddie sighed, glancing back down at the keys before beginning the song again. He played a quick intro before pausing, starting up the actual lyrical section of the cover.

“Where the light shivers offshore, through the tides of oceans… We are shining in the rising sun. …As we are floating in the blue, I am softly watching you. Oh boy your eyes betray what burns inside you…”

Playing and singing low in front of someone else made a prickle of discomfort surge across the back of his neck and over his shoulders. It was certainly uncomfortable, but he tried to forget that Waylon was sitting next to him as he picked up the volume and played the chorus.

“Whatever I feel for you, you only seem to care about you. Is there any chance you could see me too? …'Cause I love you. Is there anything I could do, just to get some attention from you? In the waves I've lost every trace of you… where are you?”

If he was embarrassed before, Eddie was definitely feeling it now. An awkward heat burned the tips of his ears as he skipped the second verse in favor of playing through the bridge. Dammit, he had to go through the chorus one more time before closing. Why had he allowed Waylon to get to him?

“Whatever I feel for you, you only seem to care about you. Is there any chance you could see me too? 'Cause I love you. Is there anything I could do, just to get some attention from you? In the waves I've lost every trace of you; where are you?”

Eddie tried to not force his way through the last section of notes, holding out the last chord for as long as possible as his foot released the pedal beneath him. He sighed, leaning back as far as he could in the chair once the final sound died out. He avoided eye-contact with the specter as he pulled his hands away, toying with the buttons on his dress shirt. Suddenly the three that were undone seemed like a bit much, his hands quick to start buttoning them back up.

Waylon remained silent for only a second more before he whistled low, “That was good. You uh… Have a nice voice.” The ghost complimented, standing up from his end of the chair. “And here I am unable to play more than one Hozier cover and hot-cross-buns.”

The mentioning of the children’s song caused Eddie to let out a sharp chuckle against his will, forcing himself to stop as he stood from the chair, “Then you still have a lot to learn.” He grunted, pushing the chair in before heading for the bedroom, hands in his pockets.

“Wait,” Waylon paused, tilting his head towards where Eddie was leaving. “Does that mean I can play it now?”

Eddie held the doorframe in one hand, contemplating the request as he looked down at the hardwood floor. Waylon was just a pitiful ghost after all; what could he really do?

“Fine,” Eddie caved, walking into the bedroom and closing the door behind him. He was tired; that whole day had been, overall, emotionally exhausting. He’d dealt with more unwanted feelings during the course of the day than he’d ever wanted to deal with in his entire life.

But his thoughts still remained intact even as Eddie tried desperately to fall asleep. Waylon; with his stupid, cute nose and his soft blonde hair. Thoughts of murder were flooding right back in, and Eddie suddenly hated that he’d allowed the younger man to get anywhere near him.

* * *

“Being gay isn’t a bad thing,” A voice spoke to him. Eddie narrowed his eyes, glaring towards the source that was sitting in a chair across the bedroom floor; Waylon.

“I’m not gay.” Eddie snapped, fists clenching tightly by his sides. It was _this whore._

“When are you going to stop lying to yourself, Gluskin?” Waylon asked, rolling his neck back before standing up from the chair. He was a completely vivid presence compared to every other day, but wasn’t wearing the same clothes he’d died in. Now, he was wearing an orange flannel instead of his baseball shirt with two of the buttons undone, the same jeans, and black converse.

Eddie was snapped back to meet Waylon’s eyes when the blonde spoke again. “That’s why all of this started, isn’t it? The killing, the denial… You were taught that it was all wrong. Yet it’s what you’ve been all along.”

“Fucking slut,” Eddie growled, breath labored as he brought his hands up to his ears. He felt exposed in front of Waylon; he was wearing what he always wore to bed; sleep pants. How dare he make him think the things he was. _“You_ did this.”

“Me?” Waylon stopped, letting out a short chuckle before he let his arms cross over his chest. “No, it wasn’t me. Your past made you like this. You think all of those men you killed were trying to lure you in? They weren’t. You were just feeling what you felt. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

 _“Liar!”_ Eddie roared, his hair falling over his eyes as he gripped harder and harder at his ears. “You and the others, you’ll all die...”

Waylon took two steps forward, arms still crossed. “You’re dreaming, Gluskin. This was all created by your own mind. How can any of this be me if I’m not even real?”

Eddie could barely hear Waylon’s words over his own panting, brows lowered and his posture slumped. Waylon took another step forward, putting a hand on one of Eddie’s tensed-up arm muscles. “You have to learn to accept who you are. Nobody can fix this but you; and it isn’t your sexuality than needs fixing.”

Eddie’s eyes snapped open in fury, hands thrusting forward to grab one of Waylon’s wrists in each hand. He put all of his weight into his momentum, pinning the smaller man to the wall, “Shut up,” He hissed, thrusting a knee up in between Waylon’s legs.

Waylon’s head fell back against the wall, a forced moan clawing its way out of his throat. His wrists struggled in Eddie’s vice-like grip, all attempts falling slack once the younger man realized that his fight was pointless. It reminded Eddie of the night he’d killed him, in a way.

Waylon’s head tilted back down, brown eyes glinting with mischief. Eddie’s lips curled into a snarl at the look, trying to force Waylon further into the wall. The blonde seemed unfazed by the amount of force that was placed on him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What now, Gluskin?”

In one swift motion, Eddie yanked Waylon’s defenseless body off of the wall before forcing the man trip back into a sitting position on the bedsheets behind him. The older man grabbed his wrists and forced them down as he shot forward, biting hard into the skin of Waylon’s neck.

The smaller man mad a noise between a cry and a groan, eyes squeezing shut in pain as Eddie bit and sucked harder and harder on the already blossoming mark. Waylon tried to fight with his wrists once more, but Eddie made sure that the slut wouldn’t go anywhere with how much weight he was using to hold him down.

“This is what you wanted from me, Eddie,” Waylon chocked out, eyes trailing up to meet Eddie’s once the man decided to show mercy on the poor skin of his neck. “…But you killed me instead.”

“I said _shut up.”_ Eddie hissed beside Waylon’s ear, releasing one of his wrists in favor of pulling up under the blonde’s knee, forcing him to keep one foot down on the sheets beneath them.

Waylon’s smirk came back when Eddie’s gaze hardened, his free-hand reaching forward to curl behind Eddie’s neck. “All this talk, calling me ‘darling’… Then just get it over with already. _Do it.”_

Eddie cut Waylon’s ramblings off by forcing his body down onto the man beneath him. Waylon cried out again, eyes squeezing shut as tight as they could. The tailor grabbed the smaller man’s chin mercilessly, craning his head to look back up at him. “Enlighten me then; what _exactly_ am I getting over with you?”

Waylon licked his lips, panting deliciously as he willed his own eyes to open again and stare into Eddie’s. “Let yourself go. Free yourself. Do what you have to, Gluskin. I’m sure as hell not going to do it for you.”

Eddie’s eyes snapped open, his entire body coated with a thin sheen of sweat. Once the full burden of what had happened in the dream came crashing down, he sat up. His eyes flickered across the room, noting that everything was still pitch-black from the night sky. The window only allowed a few streams of light to peek through; but it was enough to see the bump under the sheets covering Eddie’s waist.

The older man groaned, running a hand through his hair at the realization. Dammit. Dammit!

He tried thinking of anything but the dream for the minutes following; after all the sitting and thinking his erection flagged, and he was quick to jump out of bed and throw a stray t-shirt on. He went straight for the door, gripping the handle as quietly as he could before cracking it open a couple of inches.

When he looked around, Waylon was lying on the living room sofa, curled into the back cushions as he slept soundly. There was no sign of him waking or being awake recently, but who knew; Waylon proved to be capable of doing many strange things. Eddie didn’t believe reaching him through his dreams would be one of them.

So it really had been just his imagination. Eddie sighed heavily, closing the door back up once he confirmed that Waylon wouldn’t be going anywhere. He rested his back against the door, running a hand down his tired facial features.

_‘What the hell is he doing to me…?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few piano samples from some great artists on YouTube if anyone wants to know the feel of what Eddie was playing:  
> [Merry Go Round of Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMGUeXtmueU)  
> [I Love You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFlmRSYlc2w)


	6. Camera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new lead in the case. Eddie decides to start his own mini-investigation.

“Have a good day.”

Just as Eddie prepared to flip the front door sign from the friendly, ‘Come in! We’re open!’ to a more bitter, ‘Sorry! We’re closed!’ he heard the small ring of the front door bell. The tailor sucked in a long breath; whoever this was, he hoped they wouldn’t be long. He was already running over half an hour.

As soon as Eddie turned around to greet the customer, he almost wished he hadn’t. The messy ponytail and thick flannel jacket was easily recognizable; it was the bastard that had been at the gas station the previous Friday. If there was one thing Eddie never forgot, it was the faces of people who pissed him off.

Eddie faked ignorance as he pulled his lips into a small smile that was so beautifully fake that even a child would be able to detect the boiling temper concealed behind it. Eddie just hoped the man didn’t recognize him, too. Why was he even here?

“Hey, you’re that gas station guy!” He most certainly did recognize him. The brunette held out a hand, “Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions about a case I’ve been working on.” The man greeted with a toothy smirk, shaking Eddie’s hand before patting the pocket of his jacket. Eddie could see the outline of a notepad through the fabric.

Eddie’s eyes trailed back up to meet the man’s, “A case? I don’t think I’ll be of much help. Why are you here?” He asked, trying to make the question seem less demanding and more agitated. He didn’t like sluts walking into his place of business like they owned the store. Even more so if they tried to pin him between a rock and a hard place.

The man named Miles Upshur finally pulled out the notepad, a small pen attached to a holder at the top, “There’s still an investigation going on for a recent murder… Ah, a good friend of mine. His name’s Waylon Park. I’ve been investigating places where he was last seen. Do you mind?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow as he clicked the pen open.

Eddie was fully aware it wouldn’t take much to snap this man’s neck and be done with him, but he still felt his blood run cold at the words, posture stiffening. _‘It’s fine. He doesn’t suspect me. He just wants to know what I know about Park.’_ Eddie told himself, releasing a silent breath. “Alright.”

“Perfect,” Miles Upshur spoke, placing the writing end of his pen down to the paper while maintaining eye-contact with Eddie. “It’s only a couple questions. First question; when was the last time Waylon Park was here?”

Miles only asked three questions. He’d asked about the last time he’d seen Waylon, if he knew him outside of business, and the two dates in which Waylon had come to the shop. At least Miles Upshur wasn’t a wordy man. How lucky could Eddie have been, for one of his victims to be friends with an investigative reporter?

Not like it mattered. Miles was gone soon after, hopefully never to return. Eddie didn’t see how far Miles would be able to get by just checking people out alone; Eddie was very good at hiding himself. There wouldn’t be any evidence to go off of that would lead to the tailor himself.

Eddie decided, as always, that he didn’t care. At least…

Once he flipped the lights off and changed the window sign, Eddie glanced around the main room for any sign of Waylon being up and about during his conversation with the reporter. Silence greeted him after a short inspection, confirming that Waylon was still napping upstairs, if not hanging around the living room and minding his business.

As Eddie flicked on the hallway and living room lights, he found that the former was correct. Waylon was sprawled out on the living room couch, breathing quietly with one arm thrown over the backrest. Eddie had to stifle a chuckle; the position the blonde fell asleep in was ridiculous.

He threw the dress shirt he’d carried up onto a hanger in his bedroom closet quickly before he walked back into the living room towards the piano. His hand hovered over the keys, about to press down before he paused, sparing another glance at the slumbering man just a few feet away.

…Miles Upshur claimed to be a good friend of Waylon’s. Although it seemed like it would be in his best interest to keep their interaction a secret from the specter, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. Why should he? Waylon had meant nothing to him.

 _‘Means,_ means. _Not meant.’_ Eddie thought, pursing his lips. Waylon, the ghost that had caused him to wake up with an issue to fix three times in a single week. Why couldn’t things ever be easy?

Miles Upshur wouldn’t get anywhere with the case he was working on. Eddie had to remind himself, _keep_ reminding himself of that simple fact even as he slammed his palm down onto the keys, startling the smaller man across the room from a restful sleep into the harsh reality of the real world.

* * *

_‘This isn’t doing any good. I haven’t found a single damn place that seems even a little bit off with….’_

“Upshur!”

“Oh great,” Miles mumbled, cursing under his breath as he glanced around the parking lot in order to locate the voice that’d called out to him. He already knew who it was; now it was all just a matter of where.

“Mr. Upshur.”

Miles whipped around just as he heard the smooth voice of a well-dressed businessman standing behind him. The reporter hissed lowly, grabbing the last two grocery bags out of his cart before stuffing them into the trunk of his jeep. “What are you doing here, Blaire?”

“I left you a message this morning. I just happened to find you in a timely manner,” He answered quickly, a hint of agitation in his voice. “You should’ve responded.”

“There was a reason I didn’t,” Miles grumbled, closing the car trunk before pushing his cart off towards one of the nearby drop-off’s.

Blaire crossed his arms over his chest once he had Miles’ full attention, glaring. “I guess you don’t really care about Park’s case, then.”

Miles’ eyebrows shot up at the mention of Waylon’s name, hands dropping slack by his sides, “Wait, what? What are you talking about? Did you find something?” He started, feeling up the pockets of his jacket and jeans frantically for any sign of something to write with.

“Calm down, Upshur. You’re going to have to follow me to the office if you want to see it; security found some suspicious camera footage. Steve had the bright idea to send an e-mail to you to come and look at it,” Blaire uncrossed his arms, pointing to a sleek black car parked just a row back. “Just come look at it so you can leave faster.”

Miles tilted his head down, swiping the lock screen on his phone to find a red ‘1’ lighting up his e-mail notification center. He hadn’t gotten a chance to read his mail, assuming it to be spam or some stupid hotel offer for Comfort Inn or something.

“How come you didn’t send one of your goons out to find me instead?” Miles called out just as Jeremy got into his car.

Blaire waved an arm, rolling down the driver’s window with one hand on the wheel. “Park was my lead software engineer. Now that some psychopath left us all in the dark on the project, it makes this whole debacle a _very_ personal matter to me.”

The Murkoff building wasn’t far from the grocery store, and the downtown traffic was calm, allowing both men to arrive at Murkoff headquarters in a timely fashion. They were inside the security wing in no time, Blaire leaving the room to bully some of his meager employees (Or so Miles assumed). Two security guards remained, one searching through old footage while the other explained the situation to Miles.

The brunette had brought his book bag inside, allowing him to record new information down onto his big notebook instead of a tiny pad or a receipt from the grocery store he’d just visited. He looked between the paper and the officer, brows furrowed.

“The footage was taken an hour and a half before Park’s shift ended, the day he was assumed to be kidnapped. It’s just outside one of the employee bathrooms; he appeared to be on the phone with his mother. That’s what he kept mumbling, at least. I found the data earlier, it seemed… Off.” The officer shook his head, pointing towards the paused video screen.

“Play it,” Miles demanded, eyes locked squarely on the footage.

_CLICK._

Waylon paced around on screen, fingers scratching at his lips as if he was picking the skin, a cell phone held to his ear. He was wearing a baseball tee, converse and jeans; the same thing he’d been wearing when his body had been found.

_“Mom? …Mom? Hi. How are you?”_

The blonde cleared his throat, clearly waiting for an answer. _“In an hour, yeah.”_

A pause. _“I’m fine, mom- No, no actually, I’m not fine. Mom, I… I don’t know…”_

A shorter pause. _“There’s… I don’t know. …Yes! I, I’m sorry, it- For the last couple of days, I’m sure someone’s been watching me. It’s freaking me out, I don’t know if I’m just going crazy, but I swear I saw someone standing outside the complex the other day. Nobody lives on the road but that one apartment building with the old man and mine, mom.”_

Miles rubbed at his chin, leaning further forward as he scribbled as much of what was being said as he could.

_“No, I couldn’t ask him to leave work early just to drive me home. It’s out of the way and I know they need him in the office late tonight. Besides, he just got back from Denver.”_

The brunette felt a stab to the gut as realization hit him. Waylon was definitely talking about his work schedule; his mom had probably suggested Waylon call Miles and ask him to drive him home.

Miles felt his eyebrow twitch, his focus fading. If Waylon had called him, he wouldn’t have…

_“No. I’m… It’s probably nothing. I thought someone had been watching me work last week too, you know...”_

_‘It wasn’t nothing, you idiot. This was it. This was how you died. Not a single doubt on my mind…’_

_“I ran the rest of the way last night. I… What? Like I said, it could’ve been nothing. Well, if it was, they were tall, six-foot at least…”_

If what Waylon saw actually turned out to be his killer and not just a dumpster, then they had one hint at the suspect’s appearance. He couldn’t be absolutely sure about Waylon’s suspicions; as much as he wanted to be.

A sob, and Waylon ran a hand down his face. _“I don’t know what’s going on…”_

It was then the security officer paused the footage, spinning around in his swivel chair, “That’s all we got before he hung up and walked back to his desk.” He said, tilting his head towards the screen. “Steve thought it all seemed pretty shady.”

“Well, it’s a lead at least.” Miles sighed, collecting everything he’d taken out before placing it all back into his book bag, “Wait,” The reporter’s expression lit up, and he whipped back around to catch the gaze of both guards. “Wouldn’t there be security cameras set up in town?”

Of course! Miles felt like an idiot for not thinking of it before. Both guards shared a look, the one standing by the door giving the reporter a faint shrug. “Maybe. You can never tell with that side of town.”

“Okay, please tell Steve to send those clips to my e-mail, thanks for the help!” Miles was already out the door by the time he finished rambling, running for the exit at lightning speed. He needed to check out the town’s security footage for 6th street—if there was any—as soon as possible.

Things were starting to look up. Maybe the solution to letting Waylon finally rest in peace was closer than anticipated.

* * *

Waylon walked up and down the hall, glancing between photographs as he went. There was one that kept catching his eye; a black-and-white photo of a stern-looking older man, a smiling woman, and a half-smiling teenager that appeared as if he was on the brink of high school graduation. On each side of the boy was a dog; on his right a Doberman Pinscher, and on his left a German Shephard that seemed to be only a puppy.

The blonde had originally thought that the older man was Eddie; at least, until he looked closer. The man had wrinkles that were much more defined, black hair that wasn’t shaved on the sides of his head, and dark-colored eyes. The woman, however, had much lighter eyes and the same hair color as her husband. It soon occurred to Waylon that the teenager might’ve been Eddie.

Another photo Waylon found intriguing was one of a person that was clearly Eddie this time, but his features showed he was significantly younger in the photograph than his current age. Waylon’s estimate was around twenty-five years; he was sitting on a motorcycle wearing about the same thing he always wore around the shop. He had one hand raised in the surfer-equivalent of a peace sign, which Waylon found hilarious.

The specter decided to go back to the first family photo he’d found, peeking out into the living and kitchen area, “Eddie, is this you?” Waylon asked, pointing to the teenager in the photograph.

Eddie glanced up from his papers and sketchbooks over at the kitchen counter, dropping his pencil once he noticed what Waylon was looking at, “…Yes.” He answered faintly, turning back to his work in a rush.

When Waylon spoke again, it was quieter. “Is this your family?”

Eddie ignored him, eye twitching as he scraped his pencil harder and harder into the paper. He did _not_ want to discuss his family with a whore like Waylon.

“You had two dogs?”

Eddie continued to ignore him.

“And you rode a motorcycle?”

_‘Control your TEMPER…’_

“What was the puppy’s name?”

Eddie stood from his chair so fast that it skidded against the hardwood floor before tipping over. He glared at Waylon furiously, fists clenched as he approached, “Yes, my darling Waylon,” The nickname was cold and sharp as he spoke, voice rising in level. “That was my family, I had two dogs, I crashed the motorcycle at twenty-eight, and the dog’s name was _Mollie.”_

The frightened look on Waylon’s face only fueled Eddie’s anger, shoving the blonde up against the wall. His fists clutched the orange and white shirt of the specter tight, “Dear old dad had a little accident; he didn’t _mean_ to suffocate his wife. So what did the little boy do? He slit his throat while he was asleep,” Eddie hissed, lips against Waylon’s shivering ear. “Little Mollie missed a few feedings while their son was away and sweet, loyal Alex was left in the car an hour too long.”

It seemed Waylon had just remembered that he possessed the power to end all of the pain, collapsing back onto the floor with a shout as his body flickered right through Eddie’s grasp. Waylon scrambled back to his feet in seconds, watching the older man’s quickly deteriorating anger.

Eddie only continued stare at the photograph in front of him. A perfect family; a dollhouse. At least, that’s what he’d always wanted.

“Eddie?” A faint voice whispered just feet away. Eddie craned his head enough to see the shocked expression Waylon was sending towards him. _That look._ “…Sit down -- please.”

Why, why, _why_ was he walking, slumping, sinking into the couch cushions from just a small command from a dead man? It didn’t matter; what mattered was that he was anyway, forehead resting in his sweaty palms.

He didn’t need to look up to know Waylon was sitting on the coffee table, waiting. Well, Eddie thought he was going to wait; instead, the blonde spoke. “…Why did you kill all of those men, Gluskin?”

Eddie brought his hands down, spine hunched over the back of the couch. “Whore…”

“No,” Waylon snapped, pulling his legs up onto the table. “Stop giving shitty answers to the stupid question. Answer it like you’re lucid. Like a human being.”

Oh, Eddie knew why he killed all of those men. He knew perfectly well. He’d tried all that time to forget the real reason; passing everyone off as whores and sluts had just seemed like the easiest path to take.

But he wasn’t in the least bit comfortable sharing that information with Waylon. He didn’t know if he ever would be. It was from all of those years as a child, growing up, and his twisted energy that had continued to grow until that one day when…. Well, he had snapped. A nice way of putting it.

“I…” Eddie’s voice cracked, desperate to speak. “That’s a conversation I don’t want to have, darling. Not—not yet.”

Waylon didn’t respond, but something about his eyes shifted. He was softening up, like a delicate flower.

The blonde sighed, pressing a thumb into one of his palms. “…You know, I don’t know a whole lot about the afterlife. What connects me to you and the real world. You’d think I would, having been sent here, but I don’t.”

Eddie remained silent, allowing Waylon to continue, “You don’t understand just what it’s like to be unable to _feel.”_ The blonde’s tone dipped; Eddie could tell Waylon was starting to break. “How it feels to be able to walk on the floor beneath you, but you can’t _feel_ it. It’s not cold, it’s not warm, it’s not soft, it’s not hard; _nothing._

“I can feel your hand when you try to choke me, or throw me across the room because you’re angry, but I can’t _feel_ it. There isn’t any pain, no marks left over like there should be, nothing.” Waylon’s voice began to waver, his attention focused everywhere but on Eddie.

The tailor could see tears forming at the corners of the blonde’s eyes as he finally looked back down at him, “I can’t touch anything, do anything, or feel anything. I would rather relive the excruciating pain of my death than live like this forever. _Forever_ Eddie, this is _permanent. I can’t leave this building, nor will I ever.”_

The blonde was starting to get to Eddie with his crying; Waylon was covering his eyes, sliding back against the coffee table just as Eddie stood, “I can’t even feel the damn tears that are pouring out in an endless goddamn stream,” Waylon laughed humorlessly, wiping his eyes back and forth, over and over.

Waylon was breaking apart, piece by piece, and only something strong would be able to hold him together. Eddie had an idea; a shitty one. 

Slowly, he reached forward, pulling Waylon towards his chest before enveloping him in a tight hug. Waylon froze in his grasp, he could sense it. At least his crying seemed to slow from the gesture.

_‘Say something, dumbass.’_

“…If it’s any consolation, at least you don’t have to pay taxes anymore.” Eddie mumbled against the soft fluff of Waylon’s hair.

Waylon burst out into a fit of giggles as soon as the words left his lips. That wonderful noise eventually turned into a full-bellied laugh as the blonde pushed Eddie away, clutching his stomach. His laughter was contagious; soon enough both of them were lying on the floor, laughing until they didn’t have anything left in them.

“You’re an idiot,” Waylon wheezed, rolling over onto his side. “A stupid, murderous, well-kept idiot.”

“But,” Eddie corrected, sitting up. “An idiot that has to pay taxes, darling.”

* * *

“Hot diggity damn,” Waylon chuckled from the sofa, watching Eddie as he exited his bedroom. “Is that the shirt you made?”

Eddie glanced down at the dark blue fabric against his chest, shrugging.

“Looks good.”

Eddie walked into the kitchen, beginning to pull out a few ingredients for breakfast. He jumped once the refrigerator door closed, finding Waylon standing behind the door with a stupid grin on his face.

The older man rolled his eyes, taking out a plate from the cabinet beside him, “What do you want?” He grumbled, knowing well enough by now that when Waylon acted overly-happy in the morning, it was because he wanted something. The last week with him had taught him that much.

“Can you put the music on?” The ghost asked, plopping down onto one of the empty counter stools with a look on his face that reminded him of a kitten looking for scraps of food at a dinner table.

Eddie took his plate over to the toaster, placing two slices of bread into the open slots with a huff. “I only put those on so you’ll stop pestering me while I’m working.”

“That’s because you’re a boring old man,” Waylon pouted, sliding further over in the chair. “I could just harass you all morning until you do.”

As soon as Eddie felt the first cold chill run down his spine, he immediately gravitated over towards the laptop charging on the counter. “Slut.”

“Ass-cracker.”

Eddie made a noise of distaste while he scrolled through the computer’s music library, plugging in a tiny speaker nearby before pressing the mid-page ‘play’ button.

The tailor didn’t know a single damn song Waylon listened to in the living room while he was downstairs dealing with customers and working on his jobs. Waylon had quickly grown bored of spending the whole day watching him, so Eddie had been forced to come up with an alternative for him that didn’t involve Waylon molesting his neck with his strange ghostly wind-power.

Waylon had gone down a list of music off of the internet with him, and Eddie had downloaded the more recent tunes for the blonde’s source of entertainment. Eddie preferred swing music and his family’s old records over the modern albums Waylon liked, but at least it was something he could tolerate.

_Well I'm so above you, and it's plain to see. But I came to love you anyway. So you tore my heart out, and I don't mind bleeding. Any old time to keep me waiting... Waiting, waiting…_

When Eddie finally took a seat at the counter to eat his meal Waylon was already up, dancing in a funky way as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. He seemed to be getting into the groove of the song, so being a stand-by was entertaining for Eddie. Spectating was highly preferred over participation.

_Oh, oh-oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting! Oh, oh-oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting! I'm a lonely boy! I'm a lonely boy! Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting!_

It seemed as if Waylon had other plans for him, though. Just as Eddie was about to take a bite into a slice of toast, he felt a strong pull at his shoulders, forcing him off of the stood and onto the wooden floor. There was Waylon, grasping his wrists and making him pull his arms back and forth, syncing up strangely with the beat of the song. When Eddie tried to pull away and sit back down, Waylon’s grip only tightened.

_Well your mama kept you, but your daddy left you. And I should've done you just the same. But I came to love you, and I want to flee. Any old time you keep me waiting… Waiting, waiting…_

“Darling,” Eddie groaned, feeling a burning heat against the tips of his ears at their proximity.

Waylon laughed, finally letting go of Eddie’s arms. “Nope, gotta get through the chorus again, Gluskin!”

_Oh, oh-oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting! Oh, oh-oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting! I'm a lonely boy! I'm a lonely boy! Oh, oh-oh I got a love that keeps me waiting!_

Eddie had already taken his seat again as the lyrics repeated themselves, allowing Waylon to jump around the living room joyously. He looked so happy that Eddie couldn’t help but smile too.

That was when the older man realized a piece of vital information; he didn’t know a single damn thing about Waylon Park.

He didn’t know who he was before death, what he was like, where he worked, his interests… Hah, and Eddie had thought he’d finally started to understand him. The older man slumped in his chair; he still had a long way to go. At the very least, Eddie’s mind was beginning to tell the difference between Waylon and a common whore.

Waylon was… Different. He was eccentric in a beautiful way. He liked to care, and judging by how he acted when his music was on, he liked to _live,_ at least a little.

That was going to be his mission. Eddie was going to find out more about Waylon Park. But he wasn’t going to know much if he didn’t open himself up, too. Piece by horrid, shameful piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Lonely Boy by The Black Keys


	7. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two idiots get closer while the investigative department's security cameras show some interesting footage. Eddie tries to teach Waylon a few things...

Eddie brushed Waylon’s hands away from the keys, grunting. “Now you see, you have to replay what you’ve learned over and over and over again until it clicks. Especially as a beginner, repeating chords can be extremely helpful. If I had the sheet music…”

“I can’t read sheet music,” Waylon mumbled, starting from the beginning of the song for what could’ve been the millionth time. It probably was.

Eddie stared at the keys, pausing, “…You’ve passed the beginning for your right hand darling,” He sighed, grabbing Waylon’s frozen hands and placing each finger on the correct starting key. “There, try it like that.”

Waylon stuck his tongue out in concentration, trying again. “So you came up with this on your own time?”

“Yes,” Eddie responded instantly, making a gesture for Waylon to continue. “There’s only so much to do in this godforsaken town.”

The blonde chuckled, moving his hands away from the keys for a mere moment to determine where he should be playing next, “You should’ve gotten out more. It’s not like this is the only place to be on the entire planet.” Said Waylon, moving his hands sloppily through the first verse.

“Well,” Eddie huffed, pulling at his suddenly-too-tight bowtie. “I’m not the most social individual.”

The comment earned a smirk from the smaller man. “Yeah, no kidding. Not exactly what I would call a people-person.”

Eddie shook his head, tugging Waylon’s wrist back again, “No, now you’re falling into a completely different section of the piano. Watch,” He placed his own fingers onto the keys, playing five chords slowly with each hand, the left following the right. _“This_ is what the transition should sound like. If it helps, the raw notes are C, A sharp, G sharp, back to A, then F.”

Waylon rolled his eyes, playing each note with a hard push to the key. “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this. It’s a lot more frustrating than I thought it was going to be.”

Eddie’s eyes rolled as well. “You think you can learn a whole song in a day? It takes a lot of practice, and even more patience.”

“Patience? How are you able to play the piano, again?” Waylon asked, a sly smile curling the corners of his lips.

The larger man stared back down at the keys, rubbing his chin. Should he…? “My father had taught me for many years,” He whispered more to himself that anything, unable to take his eyes away from the keys.

_“Eddie no, no,” His father chuckled, placing his son’s hands down onto the correct keys. “Patience. Try it again, slower. Increase your speed only when you can play it three times in a row without issue. Ready now…”_

Despite the piano belonging to his mother, it had almost always been Eddie’s father giving him lessons. Both of his parents had been excellent players. Eddie clicked his jaw into place, eyes flickering down towards Waylon. “Maybe you should try to play the first verse… Slower. And then speed up when you can play it correctly. Keep the tempo _very_ slow.”

Waylon nodded, moving his hands in near slow-motion over the keys. It worked, though; he only messed up the order of the notes once, correcting himself as soon as it’d happened. Eddie watched carefully all the way up until the transitional chords.

Before Eddie could direct the specter further, Waylon stopped him with a flourish of his hands over the piano, “There’s a song I know how to play that I’d learned when I was younger,” He said, turning to face Eddie.

The tailor raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. “Alright, show me.”

The blonde practically hopped back into his previous seat beside the keys, hands positioning themselves firmly before he cast a glance back towards Eddie. “As much as I hate singing, I’ll meet you halfway. Since I made you sing before, I will too. But _only_ the chorus.”

Eddie shrugged, slumping over even further. Waylon cackled, beginning to play what he’d wanted to play. After he began the first verse, the older man tried to figure out what Waylon was playing, but failed. The song was an enigma; undeterminable. He’d probably just never heard it before. The specter seemed to have an obsession with covers.

Once Waylon sucked in a breath and played a quick transition, Eddie wasn’t surprised by the quiet, pathetic excuse for singing. He knew Waylon wasn’t even trying as he sang, “Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies; I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife. Offer me that deathless death, good God; let me give you my life.” But it was loud enough that Eddie could understand what he was saying.

Waylon stopped playing there, releasing the pedal as soon as he was done. “Yeah, I’m not doing any more of that. You get the idea.”

“Not bad,” Eddie grumbled, casting his gaze away from him. “When did you learn?”

Eddie watched Waylon sit back from the instrument, brows drooping, “Back in high school with a friend of mine; his name is Miles.” Waylon let out a snort of laughter, staring down at his toes. “He forced me to learn with him, but I only ever knew how to play the one song.”

Miles. Could he be talking about the man that had come into his shop that’d started asking questions about Waylon? It had to be. “Miles… Were you close?”

“Best friends, yeah.” Waylon mumbled, sighing. “Can we… talk about something else?”

 _‘Remember; You are the one that caused him all of this pain.’_ A sweet voice chimed in from the back of Eddie’s head. The tailor brushed off the voice and coughed, trying to clear the sudden awkwardness in the air. Didn’t he want to know more about Waylon? He started again. “What ah… Was your profession?”

Waylon raised a brow in confusion. “That’s a random question to ask.”

Before Eddie could retort, Waylon answered anyway, “I was a software engineer for Murkoff Corp. Shitty superiors, but it paid enough for me to get by.” The smaller man whispered, chuckling. “What about you, huh?”

“I thought you would’ve picked up by now that I’m a tailor…”

“No, I meant how’d _you_ learn to play the piano? I forgot to ask,” Waylon cackled, whacking Eddie’s arm in a playful manner.

_Eddie sniffed, sliding into the chair without bothering to put his shirt back on. The wounds always felt better if he left them out in the open air. He pressed a few of the piano keys before him, continuing to sniff._

_His father sat at the kitchen table nearby, hand scratching his chin and his belt resting on the table. The man glanced over towards his son when he heard the first few notes of a song, staring at his son’s damaged back. The more recent red wilts, old slashes and slices; several hand-shaped marks on his lower hips._

_So much for a pre-teen to endure. The man sighed, pushing his stool back before nudging Eddie over on the piano chair, “Come on now, you didn’t play the first note correctly.” His father said, shaking his head before pressing down on the E. “It’s this one. Here, pick a new sheet out of the bin. It’s about time you learned a new song.”_

Eddie stood from the chair, straightening his back. “I started when I was four. My… My father taught me.”

* * *

“Darling…” Eddie breathed against Waylon’s sweat-covered neck, arms wrapped around his waist in a secure hold. Neither man wore any piece of clothing.

Waylon laughed softly before him, hands resting over Eddie’s arms. “Still not convinced yet?”

“I can’t…” Eddie didn’t finish his sentence, choosing to press kisses to the back of Waylon’s neck instead. 

“Gluskin,” Waylon pulled back, turning around to face Eddie. “I know who told you that all you had to do was find a woman to marry and reproduce with.”

“No…”

“I know who made you study the bible at six years old, and who beat you when they saw you with another man. I know who twisted you into the killer you’ve become. But I need to know if _you_ know.”

Eddie held his head with one hand, unable to draw his gaze up to meet Waylon’s. “Why are you making me do this…?”

“Don’t do it for me, do it for yourself.” Not-Waylon’s voice dipped, pleading. Did his tone just get higher, too? “Tell me.”

Eddie opened his eyes, still staring at his feet. He wasn’t completely bare anymore; now he had a pair of flannel sleep pants on. He breathed heavily, lowering his hand. _“H-him.”_

“Who is he, Gluskin?”

The person standing in front of him definitely didn’t sound like Waylon anymore. The voice was much higher, and had a hint of femininity. Eddie tried looking up, but his gaze remained plastered firmly to the ground. “He did… my own family. What they did was vulgar…”

“Look here, Gluskin.”

Eddie did. He craned his neck up, surprised by what he found. A dark-skinned woman with curly hair, her cheeks covered with even darker freckles. She wore a lacey white dress that stopped just below her knees in the front, but drifted further down in the back.

“Who are you?” Eddie demanded, taking an assertive step forward. What had happened to his darling? Waylon?

The woman closed her eyes, shaking her head. Eddie looked around; the room he’d been standing in wasn’t a room anymore; it had turned into a dark void that seemed to stretch on endlessly. When had that happened? “This isn’t some game you can play until the day you die, Gluskin. You need to help yourself, _and_ him. For all our sakes.” She spoke, casting her eyes down towards his feet.

Eddie followed her wandering eyes, just then noticing the vibrant white and gold string tied to his ankle. It glowed as soon as he shifted in it, casting off a thin line into the darkness as if lighting a path. When Eddie reached towards it, it flickered in protest of his proximity.

“I don’t understand,” Eddie began, but once he looked back up, the woman was gone. He glanced over his shoulder in search of her before ultimately giving up, looking back down to his wrapped ankle.

When nothing but silence filled his ears for another minute Eddie sighed, deciding to follow the line of string. If he was going to be stuck in the middle of darkness for a while, he might as well figure out where the path led.

There were times where the path curved, and others where it seemed to swerve in a strange serpentine pattern. Eddie followed it nonetheless, legs never growing tired no matter how far he walked. It seemed like ages before he located what seemed to be the end of the string, the object it was tied to unknown.

As Eddie drew closer and closer, he found a figure sitting perpendicular to him, the other end of the strange string attached to their ankle as well. Their head was buried between their legs, shoulders shaking as if they were was sobbing. They may have been the whole time.

“Hello…?” Eddie called out, approaching the figure. Once he was directly in front of them, he knelt down, prodding their shoulder. “Hello?”

The figure was indeed sobbing, if their tear-stained cheeks and mussed hair was any indication. Eddie’s eyes widened, lips thinning when Waylon’s voice answered his in an echo, broken up into three pieces. “E-E-Eddie?”

The following day, Eddie struggled to stay awake.

“Thank you so much, sir.” Said a customer as she hung her bag over her shoulder, heading towards the exit. 

Eddie threw a quick goodbye in her general direction, letting out an exaggerated sigh as soon as the front door of the shop closed. Two couples had left just before her, leaving the building momentarily void of life.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” Waylon called out from the front desk of the room. When Eddie finally looked over to him, he found the blonde pointing down to the open page in his book. “…I need the page turned again.”

The tailor huffed, flicking the book onto the next page for the specter as he took a seat behind the desk. Waylon glanced at him over his shoulder, staring mostly at the dark bags under Eddie’s eyes, “Are you okay…?” Waylon asked quietly, folding his arms over the table. “You don’t look so good.”

“Waylon,” Eddie started quickly, tilting his head towards the specter. “Have you had any… _strange_ dreams lately?”

The ghost seemed to pause, face turning back to his book, but he didn’t appear to be reading. “I don’t dream, actually. I just assumed it was just because I can’t, like this.”

Before Eddie could insist further the front door bell chimed, signaling the entrance of three women. The tailor shook his head, standing from his seat in order to greet the customers. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Waylon was back to focusing on his original task, unaware of what was going on with him in Eddie’s mind.

Despite everything that’d happened, Eddie still managed to get through his work without any problems with the clients. He put on the radio in the corner of his workroom, keeping the door propped open in order to hear when people walked in and out.

Waylon had stuck around, but kept quiet while Eddie worked. Once, he had even told him that someone had come in when Eddie had been too engrossed with his work. He’d been putting the finishing touches on a lucky woman’s bridal gown when Waylon came back in again.

“Heh,” Waylon chimed from the corner of the room, hopping up onto the table before crossing his legs like a child. “At least you didn’t stuff me into a dress like a perfect little darling before tossing me onto the side of the road.”

Eddie cringed, lace flowing out of his hands, “I didn’t toss you,” The older man huffed, tugging at the waist of the gown. “If I recall correctly, I even put _flowers_ over your rotting corpse.”

“What a gentleman,” Waylon bit back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe you should make me one anyway.”

“Make you…” Eddie stopped, tilting his head back up. “… A dress?”

When he searched the room for the specter, Eddie found that Waylon was nowhere to be found. But there was another set of rotting celandines on the workroom table.

* * *

“Oh, god,” Miles hissed, spewing out a string of curses as he pointed towards the computer monitor. “Can you follow him?”

The officer sighed, nodding as he flicked through the 6th street security footage. There on the feed was someone who looked like the average robber or street criminal in dingy clothing. It was hard to tell through the footage by Waylon’s apartment, but it almost seemed like the clothes strained against the suspect’s large figure.

The man had reappeared in the feeds with Waylon moments later. His friend was unconscious most definitely, but Miles couldn’t tell through the grain whether Waylon was already dead or not. He didn’t appear to have any visible wounds as the man tugged him along. Miles silently thanked the town hall for deciding to put up cameras around the shady end of the neighborhood.

“Why hadn’t anyone thought about checking the cameras before?” Miles had asked the head officer.

“We had,” The officer had responded.

It took the next two minutes for Miles to understand why they hadn’t notified him about the feeds. The brunette watched the flickering channels, a black car within the next shot, license plate visible.

“Can you track the number?” Miles asked desperately, pointing at the small plate on the screen.

“That’s the problem, Mr. Upshur,” The officer sighed, turning in his chair, “We searched the security cameras two weeks ago, but when we tried to search the system for the owner of the number, nothing came back. The bastard used a fake plate.” He explained sorrowfully, flicking back through the camera feeds.

Miles ran a hand through his hair, tugging at his ponytail as if trying to wake himself up from a bad dream. “So that’s it, then?”

“You can take the footage on a drive with you, if that’ll help.” The officer suggested, gesturing back towards the screen. “We’ll keep in touch with more info. A black Audi. If only that style of car wasn’t so commonplace…”

That’s what led to Miles checking the feeds from both Murkoff and the station, rewinding and fast-forwarding constantly. He hated hearing Waylon’s panicked voice when all it would’ve taken was a simple phone call to make things right.

Miles sat on his bed, stuffing his hand in and out of a bag of cheese puffs while taking swigs from a bottle of booze he’d left on his nightstand to try and calm his nerves. He stared lazily at the screen, image paused on the car with Waylon and the suspect.

Rewind.

The man slid Waylon into the backseat of the car, slamming the door behind him. That was where the line of cameras ended; that was all they had. Miles stared hard at the suspect, accidently crushing a cheese puff in his hand into orange dust.

The brunette made a noise of disgust as he walked into the bathroom down the hall, washing off his powdered hand. He stared back at himself in the mirror; he looked beat-down, yet restless. Maybe he needed to take a day off from the case to calm down. He’d been on-edge around the clock for nearly a month.

When Miles plopped back down onto his bed, the computer screen was still on the paused footage, but the screen had darkened to a near-sleep state. He shook his mouse angrily, tossing it back down onto the sheets just as his eyes flickered to the bumper of the suspect’s car.

Miles furrowed his brows, looking closer. No, _there;_ there was a mark on the bumper of the car, a scratch. It was white, much lighter than the jet black paint of the vehicle. The mark was fairly large, but Miles still had to look close and hard at the computer screen in order to see it.

Miles nearly cried out in joy, hopping off of his bed. He had a new lead.

* * *

Eddie closed the trunk of his Audi, glaring down at the black duct tape plastered over the bumper of the car. Some whore had grazed its backside weeks and weeks before, driving off before Eddie had returned from his errands. It hadn’t been until recently that Eddie thought he should try patching up the dented mark.

 _‘I really should get that fixed,’_ He thought to himself, hefting two paper bags up in both of his arms before making his way towards the upper floor of his shop.

Eddie had put on one of his records while heating up a quick meal for dinner, sitting at the kitchen counter to eat the chicken noodle soup, carrots and celery included. Waylon was pacing around the kitchen and living area restlessly, moving constantly, sitting down and standing up and walking around.

“I was wondering,” Waylon finally asked once Eddie was nearly done with his meal, walking around to the other side of the counter. “How do people dance to this kind of music?”

“You just have to find the right rhythm, darling,” Eddie replied, dropping his silverware into the empty bowl beneath him. “It’s yet another thing that takes lots of practice and concentration you haven’t yet shown to possess.”

Waylon chuckled evilly, leaning over the counter. “Can your stiff old limbs still move enough to dance properly?”

Eddie growled, shoving his bowl to the side of the counter roughly before he reached over, grabbing the front of Waylon’s shirt. It wasn’t an overly-vigorous grab, but Eddie was still surprised as he yanked Waylon around the perimeter without his hand slipping through him.

A new song began perfectly in time with Eddie’s movements, beginning with a shoo be doo-d-doo bop type of beat as he positioned them both to dance as a pair, “The two most popular dance routines in my household had been American-style mambo and swing,” Said Eddie, grabbing one of Waylon’s hands. “I think I’d be more concerned about _you_ keeping up.”

Waylon piqued a brow mischievously, but Eddie could still see the growing blush tinting the blonde’s cheeks as he placed his other hand on Waylon’s waist, starting to move him in time with the song.

Much to Eddie’s surprise, it only took a few small suggestions and a correction of footing for Waylon to get used to the style of dance. They were nearly at the song’s mid-point when Waylon seemed to gain a near-complete understanding of the method; Eddie started getting creative, adding twirls and spins along to the tempo.

_We'd walk hand in hand, in our wonderland; the world would be our own… I'd make love to you, lovin’ kisses too, you'd be mine alone… Can't we be sweethearts? Why don't we fall in love? Right from the start, you're the girl I'm dreamin' of. Oh can't you see you're the one and only girl for me?_

Eddie held one of Waylon’s hands gently, twirling him around and stretching them apart before pulling him back into the basics of the dance again. Once Waylon started laughing, Eddie couldn’t help the smile creeping up against his own features, too.

Neither kept track of the amount of songs that passed by, too busy spinning and dancing across the hardwood floors to care. It wasn’t until the music started to slow along with their movements did Eddie think they should stop.

“How’d you find all of these records, anyway?” Waylon asked, eyes trailing between Eddie and their feet to make sure he was stepping correctly. Their pace had decreased significantly to a slow variation of a ballroom dance.

Eddie wiped at the beads of sweat on his forehead, nearing exhaustion. He’d already rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and undone his tie after only the second song, “They were collected over many years by my parents. When they passed, the records were transferred to me.” He responded, sparing a glance at his collection next to the device.

Waylon hummed, closing his eyes. “Do you ever miss them, sometimes? Your parents?”

The tailor’s lips thinned into a fine line as he thought the question over. He thought about his mother first, when she’d walk into his room after he’d turned out the lights just to tuck him in and give him a goodnight kiss, “Yes,” He thought about his father next, punishing one their neighbor’s kids fiercely for giving his son a black eye. But his uncle… Eddie cleared his throat. “Yes, I do.”

Silence reigned for only a few moments before Eddie heard a sniff from the small man in front of him. He glanced down, ears picking up another snivel before the blonde finally looked back up, eyes open and red with tears.

“Darling,” Eddie sighed, stopping their dance in order to place a hand on Waylon’s cheek, getting a closer look at his tear-stained face.

Waylon didn’t process the pause in tempo right away, accidently tripping over one of Eddie’s dress shoes through his continued motion. He let out a small yelp of surprise just before Eddie caught him on the way down, hand snapping forward to hold the blonde up by his back.

Waylon let out a short breath of relief before meeting Eddie’s eyes with his own. Eddie couldn’t help but notice the way Waylon’s lashes fluttered when they held each other’s gaze for just a second too long.

“Thank you…” Waylon whispered, standing as still as a statue.

Eddie didn’t know what to do; wait, was Waylon getting closer? They were a mere two inches apart when the sound of the clock across the room rang throughout the living room, signaling the time. Both men flinched, moving away from one another.

The tailor yanked Waylon back onto his feet, releasing him before looking at the time. Eleven PM, “It’s late,” Eddie mumbled, purposefully avoiding Waylon’s gaze as he grabbed his tie off of the kitchen counter. “I’m going to bed for the night.”

“Oh,” Waylon said, voice low as he rubbed his arm awkwardly. Eddie was walking to his bedroom door when Waylon spoke again. “Of course. …Night?”

Eddie grasped the handle, barely peeking over his shoulder as he pushed the door open. “Good night, Waylon.”


	8. Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie wants answers.

It wasn’t until noon that Eddie saw Waylon for the first time that day. And he’d come out of nowhere.

Quite literally, nowhere. Eddie had been adjusting the beginnings of a dress on a mannequin near the far end of the shop when Waylon more or less popped into view beside him. The tailor flinched, pulling his hand away from the fabric once Waylon approached.

“Where have you been?” Eddie tried asking casually, keeping his eyes trained on the dress instead of Waylon. The ‘dress’ could hardly be called so; it was a base so simple he hadn’t put anything in the fabric but pins.

The blonde sighed heavily, moving to lean against the wall. “The basement.”

Eddie froze, eyes narrowing as he continued to stare at the fabric. He could feel a dash of anger spark like a match deep down in his core, but he tried his best to contain it as he chose his next words carefully. _“Why.”_

It could hardly be considered a question. Eddie saw Waylon fidget from the harshness of his tone, but the specter didn’t move away. He didn’t have to, “I thought I might as well. I was only in there once before.” The blonde spoke, voice clipped over the last two words.

Both men stood as still as statues for about a minute and a half before Waylon continued. “You’re good at keeping blood off of the floor.”

The match fell into the gasoline inside of Eddie; he knocked the mannequin over in his blind rage as he shot forward, grasping Waylon’s throat. The blonde barely moved a muscle as Eddie leaned in, mouth practically frothing.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Waylon stated firmly, bringing his palm up to Eddie’s face before pushing him away. Eddie let him go without resistance, but he could still feel the gears churning fiercely as Waylon crossed his arms over his chest. “Eddie, you need to calm down.”

Eddie swore that as Waylon spoke, he could see a shimmer of the woman he’d remembered from his dreams; an illusion. He shook his head fiercely as he stormed into the backroom, slamming the door shut behind him. The tailor stared at his worktable for a few moments before throwing an arm across it, knocking off all of its contents.

He really was going crazy. Was he going crazy? First Waylon, then the dreams, and now that strange woman that had tried talking to him…

Suddenly, Eddie felt a sharp pain in his chest as if someone had sunk a knife directly into his lungs. He shivered, dropping down to one knee as the pain only grew worse within a matter of seconds.

And there was that, too. Even before Waylon had showed up, the pains he’d suffered through had been almost unbearable. Waylon had already told him he hadn’t been the one causing them, and the hospital hadn’t come to any conclusions about what the source of them could be. Eddie came to his own conclusion; he was going crazy. _He had to be going crazy!_

Maybe Waylon really was just a figment of his imagination. There were so many things that Eddie could so easily blame on a severe mental illness that had been building up at an unsteady rate; not just after he’d killed Waylon, but throughout all of his life beforehand. His birth, his childhood, all of the murders, beatings, sexual assault…

Eddie felt another strike to his chest much fiercer than the last, covering his mouth when he felt his lunch lurch and shoot up his throat. He missed the trash bucket at first, a line of waste trailing towards where he held his face above it, heaving painfully.

Footsteps closed in beside him; Eddie watched who could only be Waylon drop to his knees by his side, a hand placing itself on his back as he continued to expel the contents of his stomach. Eddie breathed heavily above the bucket, trying his best not to inhale the toxic smell.

“Alright, come on,” Waylon mumbled beside him, moving one of Eddie’s hands to hold onto the bin while he used his other hand to sling the man’s arm over his shoulder, helping him off of the ground. Eddie chuckled darkly, more bile surging up his throat as Waylon more or less dragged him out of the back room.

Waylon paused, dropping Eddie’s arm before pointing towards the door, “Hurry, flip the lock and close it up before you go upstairs. I can’t exactly do it myself,” Said the blonde, waving see-through hands beside his head to exemplify his point.

Eddie barely held in his stomach in as he yanked on the string of the shades, closing the three locks of his door and flipping the sign. He was almost at the stairs when another sharp pain stabbed him lower, directly into his stomach. Eddie didn’t think he had anything left in him to expel, but was quickly proven wrong.

Waylon rushed back over to him once he started on the first step, keeping a hand to his back as they both clambered up the stairs. Eddie fumbled with the doorknob at first, tossing the it open once he had a secure hold. He ran straight to the bathroom, the amount of processed food rushing out of him almost unreal.

It appeared Waylon had seated himself on the bathroom counter once Eddie had rushed in, watching to make sure the older man didn’t pass out over the toilet. At least, that’s what Eddie assumed as he left out a few last dry-heaves before pressing down as hard as he could on the toilet knob.

“What the hell happened?” Waylon asked as soon as Eddie sat himself back from the toilet bowl, wiping away the sweat that’d gathered across his forehead. 

Eddie chuckled again, closing his eyes, “Pains,” He responded, holding onto the wall for support as he pulled himself up.

“Must be some severe pains to make you throw up like that,” Waylon continued, following Eddie out of the room. “Have you had it looked at?”

Eddie didn’t respond at first, choosing instead to collapse against the living room couch with a resigned sigh. He rubbed his face, turning himself towards the backrest. “Doctors couldn’t figure out what it was. Neither can I.”

“How long has it been happening?”

“Since the week following your death.”

He heard Waylon hum from a few feet away, then a soft, “You should probably try sleeping it off.”

So Eddie did. And when he woke again, there wasn’t any light in the house except a small lamp sitting on a stand beside the couch. He glanced around, finding Waylon fast asleep over the kitchen counter.

Eddie groaned, propping himself up onto one elbow as he looked for a clock; the closest one showed him that he’d been asleep for almost seven hours. His stomach made a small gurgle as if on cue, so he made his way into the kitchen for something to eat.

Waylon groaned a few feet away, eyes fluttering open when Eddie closed the nearby fridge. The blonde didn’t say anything; just watched with curiosity as Eddie tossed a small ginger ale can onto the counter along with a packet of cheese and butter.

“Evening,” Eddie greeted, grabbing a loaf of bread out of a basket next to him.

Waylon grunted his own hello, pushing himself up in his seat, “Wouldn’t soup or something be better for you than a grilled cheese sandwich?” He asked, gesturing towards the pan on the stove.

“I’m making tomato soup too,” Eddie scoffed, leaning up against the counter while he waited for his pan to heat up. “You didn’t answer my question earlier, you know.”

The blonde tilted his head, leaning his cheek against his palm. “What question?”

“Why were you in the basement?”

Waylon blinked, rolled his neck before staring down at the counter, “You were too busy getting sick anyway,” He replied; Eddie knew he was trying to stall.

 _“Why_ were you-?”

“I don’t know myself,” Waylon finally heaved, eyes trailing up to meet Eddie’s. “I just thought, with everything that’d been happening over the last couple days, I almost forgot about… Well, where I died.”

When Eddie didn’t respond, Waylon slumped over further. “You made me forget I was dead for a little while, there.”

Eddie glanced over at the stove, tossing his uncooked sandwich onto the heated metal before turning back to meet Waylon. “You know, I’m aware you can’t speak about your death but darling,” He breathed out, running his fingers along the counter. “I need you to tell me everything that you’re allowed.”

Waylon’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I do that?”

Well, he was stuck now. Eddie had to come clean… For the most part, “...I’m can almost say with absolute certainty that I must be going crazy--” He started, changing his direction with the cold stare he earned from Waylon, “-As in, my mind is rotting away. I’ve been having these… dreams, where this woman always tries to talk to me; usually about you. And these mysterious pains, and you--”

“What does this woman look like?” Waylon asked, cutting off Eddie’s rambling. Eddie could sense a small hint of panic behind the man’s words.

”Uh…” Eddie gulped, thinking back. “Dark-skinned, always seems to be wearing a white dress…”

Waylon’s mouth opened, but closed just as abruptly. The blonde seemed to be struggling against his own lips, eyes narrowing towards his nose in frustration as he gasped, mouth snapping shut. It took Eddie a moment to realize Waylon must’ve been about to tell him something that went against his ‘curse’.

“Darling,” Eddie tried, watching as Waylon struggled harder and harder with his mouth, _“Darling,”_ He said firmly, reaching out to put a hand on each of Waylon’s shoudlers. The smaller man finally stopped, looking up to him with wide eyes. Eddie’s brows lowered. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault.”

At his words, Waylon let out a long sigh, falling against the counter in defeat, “Dammit,” He mumbled under his breath once Eddie walked back to the stove, but he still heard it nonetheless.

“As much of a pain as this is,” Eddie said, sliding a can of tomato soup towards him. “I think I’m going to do some research about this whole ordeal. I need to know that I’m not just suffering from my years of… Ah, mental decline. I can’t even be sure _you’re_ real.”

The look Waylon gave him made Eddie instantly regret his choice of words, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, “I’ll be leaving early tomorrow. Hopefully the pain doesn’t come back while I’m out…”

* * *

“Come on, Gluskin…” Not-Waylon called out behind him. Eddie felt a hand slide onto his shoulder, but he made sure to keep his back turned.

“No,” Eddie snapped, almost looking over his shoulder by mistake. “You’re not _real.”_

Not-Waylon chuckled, a sound much darker than the real Waylon would ever make, “This is true,” Said the fake; Eddie waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“So then why are you doing this to me? Every time I close my eyes, you’re there…” Eddie said next, fighting himself not to turn around. It was almost as if not-Waylon was making him do it.

That’s what Eddie had begun referring to his dream version of Waylon as; not-Waylon. He might’ve been nicer on the clone if he wasn’t so different; he was much more hostile and demanding than the Waylon he knew, and he never called Eddie by his first name. It was always ‘Gluskin’, which after a while had started to give him a bad feeling.

“We’re only trying to help you,” Not-Waylon tried, but when his voice boomed throughout the darkness that surrounded them, three separate voices came with it. Not-Waylon, what sounded like the real Waylon, and that voice that had started to become all-too familiar…

Eddie finally turned around, coming face-to-face with the strange woman he’d talked to only twice. The second time, however, could have hardly been called a conversation. He couldn’t be sure whether it’d actually been her in his last dream, or if the mouthful gurgles had only been his memory playing tricks on him.

“Gluskin,” The woman said firmly, gesturing forward with her arm. “Walk with me.”

Eddie followed her more or less against his own will, both pairs of feet walking side by side in silence. He kept his eyes trained on the dark floor below, not wanting any more of the strange woman’s attention.

“I suppose I should explain his clone,” The woman sighed; Eddie could see her fold her hands over each other. “I just had to find a way to open your mind up. I’ve never been able to recreate someone as they are in actuality.”

Eddie furrowed his brows, head tilting down to stare at the woman’s blank expression. “Who are you, and why have you been tormenting me…?”

“You’re ill, Gluskin,” She spoke, training her own gaze towards Eddie. “Mentally. You did something I’ve only ever seen a handful of times since my existence. Very peculiar.”

Before Eddie had a chance to demand answers from the woman, she continued. “Edward Gluskin. Born November third, nineteen sixty-seven. You were brought up in a strict conformist household by your mother and father, Rebecca and James Gluskin.”

“Stop…” Eddie hissed under his breath, bringing a hand up to his forehead.

“You suffered physical and emotional abuse from your father since you could walk. At age eight, your father and his brother began sexual assault…”

“Stop.” Eddie growled, louder this time, earning a raise of an eyebrow from the woman.

“They would teach you that women were the inferior sex. In nineteen eighty three, your father caught you with a friend in your bedroom. He threatened to kill you if you didn’t marry a woman by age twenty-two. He told you to kill any man that tried to seduce you. On your twenty-second birthday, you killed your father.”

 _“Stop!”_ Eddie near-screamed, collapsing onto the floor of darkness below. He held his head in his hands, shaking. He needed to know who this woman was, _now._

Everything stayed perfectly still for those next few moments, silent. The woman didn’t move a muscle, and neither did Eddie. He didn’t want to move; _couldn’t._ The woman eventually sighed, taking a few small steps towards him. When Eddie looked up, he noticed her presence in front of him begin to fade and flicker.

“He’s waking you up,” The woman said, placing a small hand on Eddie’s cheek. “Try to find me in those books and novels you keep picking up. Please.”

Eddie gulped, nodding quickly as the woman stood back up. She turned her back on him, walking away with only a single mumble left lingering in the air.

“Eddie…”

“Eddie.”

_“Eddie.”_

Eddie lifted his head up from the counter, feeling someone’s hands shaking his shoulder back and forth. He picked out the fluffy blonde hair first, then the soft facial features, casual clothes…

“Waylon…?” Eddie grumbled, wiping his eyes to clear the sleepy haze clouding his pupils. Waylon’s concerned gaze came into view first, and he groaned as the first wave of a headache pounded against the back of his head. He stared down at the floor, finding that he was still wearing only his gray pajama bottoms. He didn’t have the strength in him to change into something more presentable, or even pull a shirt on for that matter.

Waylon slumped, pointing at the piles of books on top of the counter space Eddie had been working at before sleep had taken over, “Ah… What are you doing?” He asked quietly, peeking over Eddie’s shoulder at the most recently opened book.

Eddie glanced back at his own work, running a hand down his face, “I guess you could call it research,” He responded, spinning the chair back towards Waylon. “Did you need something, darling?”

The blonde’s cheeks lit up dully at his words, directing his gaze towards the ceiling, “Ah, I needed help with that ponytail again. Could you?” He asked, holding his elastic out towards Eddie.

“Of course, darling. What time is it?”

“Two-thirty.”

While Eddie was constructing a new up-do for Waylon, the smaller man spoke up. “Really, what were you looking at in all of those books?”

Eddie pulled the elastic back out of his blonde hair again, running his fingers through thick strands, “Do you remember when I told you about that strange woman I’d been seeing?” A nod. Eddie hummed. “I still believe I’m losing parts of my mind because of this whole ordeal. I needed to see if I could find even the smallest bit of information on her; anything to prove I’m not the only human being that’s been in this mess.”

Waylon shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you’re aware you have a book on satanic rituals in that pile, right?”

Eddie made a noise in the back of his throat, more disgusted with himself than anything. “I thought it’d be best to look into… Everything. Although I don’t believe I’ll get very far with that particular selection.”

Waylon laughed, causing Eddie to lose some of the strands of hair he’d gathered. He couldn’t help but chuckle as well, trying to catch the missing ends. “I just can’t do this without _knowing._ I don’t expect you to understand all of this.”

“I can though,” Waylon said once Eddie finished tying the elastic, flicking the small ponytail he’d created. “I could help as much as I can, like this. I don’t know how much, but I’ll try.”

Later that night, Eddie turned a record on to keep his mind at ease as both he and Waylon sat down on the living room couch, looking through the seemingly endless amount of books Eddie had both rented and purchased.

“Someone came up with an entire spell book,” Waylon chuckled, pointing to one of the covers lower on the pile. “I would just toss that one. That’s not even within the same category of what we’re looking for.”

Eddie tossed it into their designated ‘Done’ pile.

“This one talks about several gods and goddesses, one of them looking similar to the woman I’d described,” said Eddie thoughtfully, reading the description below. “She was well-known for her torture methods, or so it says.”

Waylon scrunched his nose, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. “Toss.”

Neither man had any idea how much time had passed before Waylon picked out a book from the top of one of the shrunken piles, placing a finger to it. “Is this one you bought?”

Eddie glanced over to the book Waylon had picked, scanning the cover. “I believe so.”

“It looks more like a copy of a journal,” Waylon mumbled, reaching forward to pick up the book. His fingers slid through straight through the cover. 

Eddie saw Waylon begin to blink rapidly before the older man reached out, quick to pick up the book himself. “Here.”

Waylon nodded, sitting up off of the floor that he’d taken position on once the couch had become too boring to sit on. He scooted over towards Eddie, placing a hand on his wrist in order to lower the appendage and get a better look at the first page.

“Looks to be that way,” said Eddie, flipping through the first few pages. “It looks like one of those books people write after a near-death experience. We already have plenty of these…”

After flipping through a few more pages, Eddie stopped. There, in the middle of the page, was an exact sketch of the woman he’d seen. Everything was almost exactly as he’d remembered it, save for a halo drawn around her head. Eddie didn’t remember her ever having one.

He was too focused on his own thoughts to have seen Waylon’s hand slide over the image. Eddie read the small text beside the image, which only briefly described her appearance.

Eddie flipped to the next page almost immediately, causing Waylon to retract his hand. The man in the book seemed to be describing a limbo in between both life and death in which he was able to communicate even after he’d nearly died from drowning.

If Eddie had found this book before he’d seen the strange woman in his dreams, or even before Waylon, he would’ve laughed at the man’s naivety. But now, having seen everything he had, the theories and beliefs didn’t seem all that crazy.

Eddie closed the book, but not before marking the page about accessing the limbo. He sighed, placing it down onto the coffee table, “This is absolutely crazy,” He chuckled to himself, glancing over towards Waylon. “Is it true? The possibility of finding this woman?”

“I-I, I don’t know,” Said Waylon, scratching the facial hair on his chin. “I’ve said many times I don’t know as much about being _dead_ than I wish I did. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

Before Eddie could respond, Waylon stood, “I didn’t think it was possible, but I think you wore me out. I’m gonna hit the hay,” Said the blonde, moving from sitting to standing. “See you in the morning.”

As Waylon began to leave, he patted the top of Eddie’s head. “You’re not crazy, Eddie. At least not all the way; I have no idea what anyone would say about all those people you killed. But you’re not losing your mind. That’s what I think.”

Just as Waylon tried slipping away Eddie shot forward, grabbing the smaller man’s wrist in his hand. He could hardly hear the sweet sound of Ben E. King’s Stand by Me over the thumping of his own heart all the way up in his throat.

Waylon was staring at him. Eddie coughed, loosening his grip, “Please,” The older man near-whispered, coming to a stand himself. “Would you mind humoring me, darling? Dance with me,” He asked, the record player suddenly tuning into his ears much louder than before.

The blonde seemed confused, even as he joined Eddie, “Why the sudden urge? This is a weird time to want to dance,” Waylon asked, letting out a small yelp of surprise as Eddie pulled him close to his bare chest.

“Just humor me. I need a distraction,” Eddie mumbled, burying his face in Waylon’s hair. He began moving them in a slow swaying motion, unable to find the will in him to let Waylon go. What the hell was he doing?

“Fine.” Waylon grumbled, finally surrendering to Eddie’s arms. He had the option to leave; he could just release Eddie’s control.

But he didn’t.

The song was almost over; Eddie began to feel tired himself, his already small motions slowing down even further. He breathed in deeply, disappointed that he couldn’t smell Waylon with the rest of the oxygen.

_‘That’s because he’s dead. You killed him.’_

Eddie pulled Waylon away enough to get a good look at his face; he sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“Uh… What?”

“I’m sorry; I know it will change absolutely nothing, but I feel indescribable regret.” Said Eddie, placing a hand on Waylon’s cheek. “You had a life; friends, and a family. And I took that away from you.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m a monster.”

“Eddie, no. You--”

“Don’t you dare try to excuse my actions,” Eddie hissed, shoving Waylon away from him. “I’m a murderer. I _killed you,_ and so many others before…”

“Eddie, will you just--!”

Eddie stepped back, raising a hand, _“No._ I’ve been a fool this entire time…” He said, locating a knife on the counter nearby. He made a grab for it, but was stopped by Waylon’s hands on his wrist, pulling back with an intense amount of force.

 _“Listen to me!”_ Waylon shrieked, practically throwing Eddie away from the counter. “Eddie, for christ’s sake! I’m not trying to brush all of this off like it was nothing, you idiot!”

Eddie’s breath continued raggedly as Waylon let go of his wrist, rambling. “Yes, you did horrible, awful things. People did horrible, awful things to you. You’re angry! But you can’t just find a solution to a problem by killing other people, or yourself! What the _hell_ is that going to change? Then you’d be dead and I’d be stuck here, alone, forever…”

As Eddie came down from his high, he watched Waylon wrap his arms around his middle, his entire frame shaking violently. Shit.

“Darling, I’m…” Eddie began, but was cut off by Waylon’s hand raising in a flourish.

“Don’t say it.”

Eddie paused, looking Waylon up and down carefully before finally making his decision. It only took five seconds reach the smaller man, three seconds to get a hold of his arms, and one second to crash their lips together.

He could hear the small noise Waylon made in the back of his throat as he did so, but Eddie could hardly bring himself to care as he pulled the blonde as close as he could towards him, trapping him in his arms.

It was then that everything came crashing down on top of Eddie, and he realized what he just did; was _doing._ He pushed himself away instantly, their lips making a sloppy wet sound as they parted. Eddie breathed hard, leaning over on the counter for support.

The room was silent for only a second longer before Eddie shook his head, about to ramble his apologies before Waylon was in front of him, feet raised off of the ground to level out their height before he brought their lips back together.

As soon as the blonde made his move Eddie’s hands shot forward, wrapping around his waist. Waylon tilted his head forward enough so they were forced to part again, noses brushing against each other, “This is so fucked up,” Waylon mumbled before moving his hand to the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling him back towards him.

Oh, Eddie knew it was fucked up. Knew perfectly well even as he slid a hand underneath the back of Waylon’s shirt, fingers splayed against his back. It wasn’t until Eddie felt a chilling sensation on his cheek did he force them to part for air.

When Eddie got a good look at Waylon’s face, the man’s cheeks were flushed, a few tears sliding down his cheeks.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Eddie asked, voice low as he swiped a thumb over one of the tracks.

Waylon let out a short laugh before planting himself back onto the floor, wiping his eyes. “I can’t feel you.”

Eddie sighed, surprising Waylon as he swooped his hands underneath him, picking the near-weightless man up into his arms. He managed to turn off the nearby record player before moving them into his bedroom.

He placed the smaller man onto the far end of the bed, “Just try to sleep,” Eddie mumbled as he climbed under the sheets, reaching for the switch to his bedroom lamp. “I’m sorry.”

Waylon let out a faint chuckle beside him; Eddie could hear the tiredness in his voice, even without the yawn that followed. “You really need to stop saying that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know things may seem very confusing at this point but trust me; many questions are on the brink of being answered, haha.


	9. Summon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sexual content ahead.

Eddie had only woken up with someone beside him one other time in his life.

Sure, it felt odd to lay there and watch Waylon sleep, but at the same time it felt so right. Despite the fact that Waylon didn’t need to breathe in order to get by, the blonde’s chest rose and fell throughout his slumber.

The smaller man was curled in on himself, hands attempting to grab at the bedsheets beneath him while failing miserably. He was sleeping on his side, body turned towards Eddie.

The older man had been awake for around an hour, but he hadn’t had any thoughts of getting up as he continued to watch Waylon. The blonde shifted in his sleep, causing a lock of hair to fall over his eyes. The right sleeve of his shirt had shifted in his sleep, exposing a slender shoulder.

Eddie frowned, turning over from his view of Waylon in order to lie on his back. He stared up at the crème colored ceiling, thinking.

_‘You’re in love with him, Gluskin. Get over it. Throwing things and whining about it isn’t going to change anything.’_

Eddie growled at his own thoughts, casting his eyes over towards the specter lying beside him. Waylon hadn’t moved, but his hands had stopped trying to become one with the bed. Eddie sighed, closing his eyes.

_‘RUN!’_

_Eddie sat up in his small bed, groaning. He looked down at the teenager lying beneath him; his blissful expression, slender frame, naked body._

_Suddenly, he heard the front door of the house just below his floor open and slam shut so loud it startled the boy awake._

_Footsteps, pounding._

_Eddie was quick to act, grabbing the boy’s t-shirt and shorts off of the side of the bed. The boy was already up, grabbing his clothes without a second thought as he started pulling them on, frantically._

_“Hurry up!” The eighteen year old hissed._

_“I’m trying!” Responded the sixteen year old._

_The eighteen year old jumped up once he heard the footsteps racing up the stairwell, flipping the lock on his door. His mother had been forced to put one on when he was eight because of the man responsible for the hammering footsteps he now heard._

_A bang on the door._

_“EDWARD JOHNATHAN GLUSKIN!”_

_Another bang. Both boys froze for less than a second before yanking their clothes on more frantically than before. Eddie had barely grabbed hold of a nearby flannel before the lock cracked and the door slammed open._

_“RUN!”_

_“YOU’VE DONE IT NOW!”_

Eddie rubbed his face, sighing heavily. He decided it was time to get up. He sat at the edge of the bed, back hunched and mind racing.

_‘Let’s review: 1. You’re in love with him. 2. He loves you. 3. You killed him. 4. You still want to kill him.’_

He didn’t know why. Eddie had absolutely _no idea_ why he still felt small urges to kill the blonde every now and then. Was it repressed memories? Did he not really love him, his mind tricking him into believing he did?

Eddie glanced back over to Waylon, heart panging as he looked over his fragile body. No, he loved him.

So why was his mind telling him, _‘Kill! Kill! Kill!’ _over and over, every day?__

_“Kill any man that tries to seduce you.”_

It was his father. Cliché, stupid, and most of all pathetic. Maybe it wasn’t the thoughts that made him a psychopath; it was the simple fact that he’d acted on those thoughts. Waylon’s life had been the end result; the sacrifice.

Eddie walked into the kitchen, grabbing a banana off of a rack beside the counter before reaching for the book he’d found with Waylon the night before. He peeled the fruit, taking a bite as he skimmed through the copied pages.

_“She will tell you anything you want to know, as long as you have something to offer in return. Everyone gives her a separate name. But she is not a god. No, she is not a god.”_

_“There are some things the human mind is not capable of understanding. No matter how much you ask, plead, beg; you won’t understand what death means until it’s your own time. I’ve tried telling numerous research divisions that I’m not crazy. They would always come back with, “Only someone crazy would say that.” Let’s see them get as far as I have.”_

Eddie paused, flipping over to the sketch of the woman. He squinted, looking hard. It was definitely her; not that he hadn’t known before.

He flipped over to the next page, the text explaining how the man had been able to talk to the woman again after he’d recovered from his accident. Had she told him how to do it? Had he figured it out himself? If so, how would he have managed to come up with such a thing? The instructions were so specific that Eddie was amazed no one else had been trying to talk to this woman before.

Unless it was a ritual that didn’t work.

He tried not to let negative feelings get past him as he skimmed over the page, hardly paying attention to the small rush of wind against the back of his neck. Then, a voice.

“Good morning.”

Eddie glanced up, finding Waylon upright and awake on the other side of the counter. The blonde was frowning, staring down at the book in Eddie’s hands. “What are you up to?”

“Ah,” Eddie coughed, closing the hard cover book as gently as he could. “Just looking into the journal again. I’m… Not quite sure when I’ll be able to test the theories.”

Waylon gave him a look like he’d barely been listening before letting a long, drawn-out sigh fall from his lips. He finally met Eddie’s eyes, brows lowered. “Eddie, we need to talk.”

Eddie tossed his banana peel down onto the counter, standing. Did Waylon just say that? He grabbed a stray sweatshirt off of the chair next to him, zipping it up. Anything to avoid the smaller man’s gaze as he responded. “About what?”

Eddie could see Waylon move around the counter out of the corner of his eye, slipping behind him as the larger man pretended to struggle with the zipper of his clothing. But once he felt the familiar breeze on the back of his neck Eddie stopped, sending the specter a harsh glare.

A small smirk flashed across Waylon’s lips, but disappeared as soon as it had come. Eddie huffed, sliding his hands into his pockets before giving the blonde a sharp shrug. “What?”

Waylon shook his head, talking a seat in the chair Eddie had previously occupied. “Eddie, you have to tell me.”

The older man rolled his eyes, plopping down into the stool opposite Waylon. “Well isn’t this just a great conversation to start the morning off…”

“I’m not talking about the murders or the photographs,” Waylon snapped, shoving Eddie’s shoulder much harder than the man had anticipated. Eddie narrowed his eyes as Waylon continued. “You know I’m dead, right?”

Eddie directed his gaze to the counter, glaring at it instead. “Yes.”

“And that means that I can’t go anywhere, or do anything. I’m stuck in a loop.”

“I know.”

“And you murdered me…”

“I _KNOW.”_

“…Because you thought I loved you.”

Eddie felt a sharp, cold stab to the gut at Waylon’s words. It wasn’t the same as the pains he’d been experiencing since Waylon’s death. No, this one was a stab of betrayal, of hurt and despair.

“Eddie, please, just look at me.”

For some reason, he did.

“If you hate me, or think I’m disgusting, I get it.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry if I-”

Eddie stood from his chair, wood scraping against wood with a high-pitched screech. He scoffed, turning towards the living room.

“Eddie!”

Why had he done it? Why had he kissed Waylon?

“Eddie, I love you, dammit!”

The room fell into an eerie silence, but in Eddie’s mind it sounded like a two-ton block of iron had dropped down from above. Eddie looked over his shoulder, the look he gave Waylon near unreadable.

The blonde panicked, beginning to ramble, “It’s fucked up, I know it is, I know I know I know, but for the last week I can’t stop thinking about everything that’s been going on and I thought… I just thought…” Eddie could hear Waylon’s gulp, a shiver added to his voice as he looked down to the floor. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“You’re apologizing despite the fact that I’m the one that dragged you into this?” Eddie finally said, retracing his steps. “You had so much life ahead of you.”

“Not like that matters now,” Waylon whispered, sniffing. “I can’t stop thinking about you. God, not only is this all so wrong, but it’s so cliché too.”

Eddie stopped moving, now less than a foot away from Waylon.

“You know, I keep thinking back to the time when I came to get my clothes back from you,” Waylon continued, taking a small step forward. “How when I grabbed the bag, I accidentally touched the back of your hand. I could feel you then. …I can’t do that now. I can’t feel anything.”

Eddie took a large step forward, grabbing Waylon’s hips with his bare hands. He was almost glad he hadn’t pulled on any gloves yet as he shoved the smaller man into the counter, knocking over one of the stools in the process. He leaned down, lowering his voice. “What does it feel like?”

Waylon shook like a leaf in his hold, one of his hands moving to cover Eddie’s, “It’s like… Like some invisible force is pushing me back, keeping me held in place.” He placed his other hand against the counter. “It’s similar to being stuck between a wind that’s blowing in both directions.”

Waylon’s skin flared to life when Eddie placed a hand on one of his cheeks, moving his lips to the other, “This?” He asked against trembling skin.

“T-the same,” Waylon stuttered, stifling a gasp. “But more pressure is added where you’re touching me.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate to press their hips flush against each other, burying his nose in Waylon’s neck. “What about this?”

Waylon’s shaking intensified as he placed two firm hands on Eddie’s shoulders, “I-I can feel it,” He shivered, tilting his neck back. “But not… N-not the way I want to. Not the _right_ way.”

The older man groaned through the tone of Waylon’s words, but refrained from continuing as he pulled himself back just enough to free Waylon’s hips. The smaller man practically sobbed in relief, moving his hands forward to link behind Eddie’s neck. “This isn’t right, Eddie.”

He knew it wasn’t.

“I don’t think this is healthy.”

Agreed.

“But I still have feelings for you.”

“I’m so sorry, darling.” Eddie mumbled as he pushed Waylon back against the counter much fiercer than before, trapping him in. “I spent all of my life repressing thoughts and emotions that I… I…”

“Killed people.” Waylon finished, letting out a small, deflated chuckle. “Trust me; I know.”

Eddie glanced off to his right, sighing. “Why do you do these things to me?”

“I don’t-- I’m sorry.”

Eddie chuckled, dragging his gaze back to Waylon, “That was rhetorical, darling.” He mumbled, working his hips onto the other man as he brought their lips together. “I just want to make you feel good…”

Waylon leaned back comfortably against his touch, a content sigh escaping his lips, “You can’t,” He spoke, dragging one of his hands down Eddie’s chest as his eyes flickered back. “…But I can.”

* * *

Eddie tried to regain his breath as he sat up from the couch, shaking his disheveled sweatshirt off the rest of the way. He felt a light, sticky sheen of sweat coating his body, a grumble breaking free from in the back of his throat as Waylon’s hands placed themselves over his chest once more.

“So,” Said Waylon, letting out a breathy laugh as Eddie tugged him down. “Was that your first hand job from a ghost?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, carding his fingers through Waylon’s hair. “Don’t be so vulgar.”

“Ghost-job?”

Eddie pushed the blonde’s face away, the latter bursting into a fit of giggles. Eddie grabbed Waylon’s shirt off of the floor, tossing it so it splayed across the specter’s face. As he stared the man down, Eddie couldn’t help but think how strange such an act would’ve looked to anyone else. Eddie was the only one who could see Waylon, after all…

He tried to keep himself from shuddering at the thought as he tied the string of his pants back up, heading into the bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay, fine,” Waylon chortled from his position on the couch, playing with the shirt in his hands. “Wash away my sexy ghostly essence.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as he disappeared through the doorway, popping out with clean clothes on his arm a second later. “Thanks to you, I’m already late for opening. I still have things to work on, you know.”

Waylon clicked his tongue as Eddie walked into the bathroom, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “That is the only thing that went down this morning I _won’t_ apologize for.”

Eddie tried to ignore Waylon to the best of his ability as he slammed the bathroom door shut, tossing his clothes onto the counter. Once he turned the water in the shower, Eddie began thinking back to the book again.

It really didn’t take all that much to be able to see this strange woman. The only thing that was required that Eddie didn’t have was chalk, but that item was easily accessible. He would try to stop by the grocery store later in the day to pick some up, after the shop was closed.

Eddie wondered how Waylon would feel about everything once he finally stepped up to the plate and did it. Would he even want him talking to this woman? Not like Waylon could say anything about it.

Standing under the near-scalding water, Eddie missed Waylon already. He was just through the door and down the hall; it was ridiculous. He leaned against the tile wall, letting the streams of water pour down his body.

He had never thought things with Waylon would go in the direction they had.

Soon enough, Eddie detected a small problem at the midsection of his body. He reached down, groaning.

He didn’t even try to stop the thoughts of Waylon alive, back arched off of his bed and panting, writhing beneath him as he took care of himself.

* * *

Miles rubbed his eyes, clutching onto the plastic grocery bags as he made his way back to his jeep.

He passed a group of girls outside of the store, asking for what he could only assume was the millionth time, “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

Dammit if he wasn’t a slut for tagalongs.

Three boxes of peanut butter and chocolate cookies later, Miles was feeling better as he pulled the keys to his jeep out of his pocket. He opened the back door, tossing his bags and cookies inside. The setting sun cast a beautiful hue onto the cars in the parking lot; he looked around, letting all of the previous tension drain out of him.

Just as Miles turned to his car again, he whipped his head back over to a black car parked a few feet away, perpendicular to his own row. Miles’ eyes trailed down to the bumper of the car, eyes widening when he noticed black duct tape plastered over the side of the car; exactly where the mark in the video feeds had been.

Miles glanced around the parking lot before closing the door to his jeep, approaching the other car. He didn’t see anyone walking out of the store as he looked over the black vehicle; he nearly lost his footing when he realized that the car looked _exactly_ like the car from the feeds.

The brunette was about to check the license plate number when he heard the sound of mechanical doors sliding open over by the front of the grocery store. Not wanting to chance it, Miles pretended to be walking back to his car as footsteps echoed further down the pavement.

Miles climbed into the driver’s seat of his jeep, turning the keys before looking back over to the black car. There stood a man, back turned as he got into his vehicle. The brunette already had a sneaking suspicion as to who it could be by his hulking frame and long black overcoat, the man’s face sealing the deal.

The car was Gluskin’s; the tailor he’d spoken with.

He turned back around to stare at his dashboard when the other car pulled out of the lot and onto the lonely road ahead of the store. Miles hadn’t noticed his heart rate pick up until he was nearly gasping, hands gripping the wheel like a vice.

Was he Waylon’s killer? Was Gluskin actually Waylon’s killer?

Miles scoffed, making a grab for his phone on the seat beside him. He went to call the station, pausing just as his thumb hovered over the first digit.

The brunette stared at his phone, hard. He’d contacted the station days ago about the car, and everyone had been on the lookout for it since. How come he had to be the first person to see it? He hadn’t even got the damn license plate number.

He’d ran because that man could be dangerous. That man could be a killer.

Miles tossed his phone back down, putting his car into reverse. He backed out of the parking lot, zooming off into nightfall without anything but one thought on his mind.

_‘I’m going to find this son of a bitch myself.’_

* * *

Eddie sat at the kitchen counter, pushing his noodles around lazily as he glanced between the bag on the counter and his food.

Waylon sat on the stood beside him, fingers drumming against the table. He leaned over, poking his head into Eddie’s field of vision. “So you’re really going to do this?”

“I told you, I need to know.” Eddie sighed, putting the fork back down onto his plate.

“What kind of questions would you ask?”

Eddie pressed his lips together, thinking. “Everything that’s been happening. Everything that’s _going_ to happen. Why you’ve come here, when so many of the men I’d killed before stayed in their graves.”

Waylon nodded, “Makes sense,” He reached over, shaking Eddie’s shoulder. “So I shouldn’t try to wake you up, then?”

Eddie pushed his plate aside, grabbing the plastic bag he’d been eyeing instead. “Actually, I was hoping you would come with me.”

The blonde’s eyebrows rose in interest, “Me?” He asked, placing a hand to his chest. “Do we have to use those weird tinfoil hats, too?”

That earned a chuckled from Eddie as the man stood, ripping a pack of chalk open from inside the bag. “No. Unless it’d make you feel better…”

“Absolutely not,” Said Waylon, shaking his head. “Sure. I’ll do it.”

“Wear the hats?”

“No! Go with you.”

Eddie nodded, holding the single stick of chalk up to eye-level. He knelt down onto the floor, drawing three large curves over the wood.

“Hey,” Waylon spoke up from behind, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Are you okay? No, wait. Are you going to be okay?”

_’WHORE!’_

“Yes,” Said Eddie, trying to shake off the voice that still echoed throughout the back of his mind. “I should be fine.”

Once he was done drawing the curves, Eddie threw the chalk off to the side. He turned back to Waylon, sighing. “If you don’t mind darling, I need something from you. The book said that in order for this to work, I need something that signifies my reason for seeing her.”

Waylon tilted his head, confused. “So what do you want?”

“Celandines, darling. I need celandines.”

The blonde froze, but brought his hands up to his chest nonetheless, closing his eyes. After a few moments of silence, Eddie watched as Waylon’s chest glowed an odd color and soon enough, half-dead celandines appeared in the smaller man’s grasp.

“Here,” Waylon mumbled tiredly, tossing the flowers in Eddie’s direction.

The older man grunted, taking the stems into his hand before placing them in the center of the mark. He stood, moving back into the kitchen. He opened his silverware drawer, prying around.

“What now?” Waylon asked, watching from afar.

Eddie didn’t respond; instead he held up a kitchen knife, slamming the drawer shut. He walked back to the center of the mark on the floor, placing the knife in his hand. Eddie barely registered the pain of metal biting into his flesh as he held it over the curved center, red liquid dripping, splattering.

“Woah, woah!” Waylon gasped, reaching for Eddie’s hand. “I don’t think you needed to make a cut that huge, Eddie!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Said Eddie, glancing back down to the now marked-up floor. “Now, since I don’t feel in the mood to give myself a concussion, we’ll just try to fall asleep. Feeling tired?”

Waylon faked a yawn, stretching his arms over his head. “Oh yeah, absolutely.”

Eddie shook his head, kneeling to lie down on the hardwood floor. He glanced up at Waylon, mumbling. “Coming?”

“Alright, alright,” Said Waylon, shoving Eddie over before taking his place beside him. The older man yanked Waylon the rest of the way down, earning a small squeak of surprise as an arm wrapped tight around his waist.

“Well isn’t this just cozy.”

“Stop talking and go to sleep.”

“Pssshhhh. Fiiine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just putting it right out there, the symbol they drew on the floor with chalk was the Walrider symbol. The actual Walrider isn’t in this story, but still. Y’know, Outlast.


	10. Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of stress while the tension is rising.

Miles hissed, glaring at the empty glass bottle in his hand. He tossed it into the backseat of the jeep, repositioning both of his hands on the steering wheel as his eyes trailed to the lighted clock in the dashboard. One-o’-two AM.

He reached towards the passenger seat, feeling around for the empty cardboard box he’d placed there barely an hour before. Once Miles determined that the box was in fact empty, he tossed it into the back, too.

The journalist realized he’d passed his objective a couple seconds too late. He nearly slammed on the brakes at the realization, letting out a frustrated shout as he slowed down next to the last shop on the street.

The night was darker than usual, the stars having decided to take an off-day. Dark clouds had taken their place, the moon’s persistent glow giving the street an eerie source of light. But Miles didn’t care; he couldn’t care less as he stopped in front of a small dirt path behind the shops. It became clear in an instant that it was a road made for the tenants to drive in and out.

 _‘This is stupid,’_ Miles thought to himself as he parked on the side of the road over a patch of thick grass, barely missing a tree as he hit the brakes. The jeep jerked forward, lights flickering before shutting off once he pulled the keys.

Miles slammed the door shut, pretending for just a moment that he was establishing dominance over the forest surrounding him as he walked down the dirt path. He grumbled under his breath as he went, the stench of alcohol clear as day over his clothes.

He walked for what seemed like forever when he finally ended up in front of the small garage door of the shop he’d been looking for. Miles continued to grumble, leaning against the cement wall for support as he belched.

_‘You’re drunk, Upshur. This is a terrible, terrible idea. Just go home, call the police, and get the job done the right way.’_

…Fuck the right way.

Miles straightened his back as he reached for the door beside the garage, expecting the handle to jingle and stick. But instead, it opened without issue. The brunette raised a brow, stepping inside.

There were two cars parked inside of the fairly sterile garage; at least, that’s what Miles assumed from the tarp-covered machine sitting at the other end of the room. The car closest to him was the car he’d seen hours beforehand, duct-taped and all.

“Mother fucker,” Miles cursed, moving around the car before ripping the tape off. There it was; a scratch identical to the one in the security feeds. The dent was in the correct position, too. Miles pulled out his phone, taking a picture.

Once the device was back in his pocket Miles leaned over, breathing heavily. Would he be able to do this on his own?

He contemplated his weakness as he stumbled over to a door opposite the main entrance, jingling the knob with his fist. Locked.

Miles closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door. He let out a long sigh; he really wasn’t being all that quiet, was he? Now everything rested on the hope that this lunatic was a heavy sleeper… and that Miles wouldn’t pass out from all the drinks he’d ingested from the local bar if he was forced to confront the man.

Was it a good idea? Absolutely not. Did he do it anyway? Yes. Was he going to continue? Of course.

Luckily, Miles was quite experienced in the fine art of picking locks. The journalist squatted over the concrete floor, pulling out one of many tools hanging on his keychain inside of his flannel jacket. He lined it up with the lock, pressing in.

Miles hadn’t picked a lock for almost three years, so it didn’t surprise him when it took over a minute to remember how to use the tool and get inside. But as soon as he pushed on the now-unlocked door, he found a chain attached to the other side as a second block in his path.

“Hell,” Miles cursed as he pulled a pocket knife out of his jeans. _‘I’ve just got a way through everything tonight,’_ Miles laughed to himself as he angled the knife, thrusting it as hard as he could against the metal chain.

Instead of splitting the barricade in half like Miles had hoped it would, the bar attached to the wall snapped, splitting off of from it. The chain fell, left to hang where it was still attached to the door itself.

Miles pocketed the knife, looking around the room carefully as he pushed the door open. Still no sign of footsteps or any life in the building; maybe he had been quiet enough…?

The brunette sighed, clutching his chest as he propped the garage door open with a chair. If he needed a quick escape, he now had it. 

Once Miles took a second look around, he noted that he appeared to be in some sort of sewing room. Two mannequins stood in the far corner, sewing equipment laid out over a large table and fabric; it was _everywhere._

He huffed, kicking at the carpet beneath him in frustration. His foot was met with a small bump in the path, letting out a short yell of surprise as he tripped, grabbing hold of the sewing table for dear life.

Miles glanced back over his shoulder towards where he’d kicked the rug, surprised to find an opening in the scratchy material. The brunette narrowed his eyes, peeling it back the rest of the way to find a small latch in the floor.

That’s all it was, really; a latch that didn’t seem to lead anywhere. Miles raised a brow, pulling on the protruding metal as gently as he could. The floor broke out beneath him, snapping up into what could be considered a trap door, a dark stairwell leading downwards.

 _‘Well isn’t this just my lucky fucking day,’_ Miles thought, pushing the door back onto the other side of the floor. He tried squinting through the darkness of the stairwell; but could still see nothing. He came to the conclusion that he’d have to go down and inspect the area himself.

Was it a stupid idea? _YES._

Miles used the fact that things couldn’t get much worse to bribe himself as he walked down the stairwell, hand brushing against the wall in search of a switch. Once Miles reached the last step, he found one, and the room flickered to life.

His eyes were drawn first to the dingy bulb casting an ominous glow from the ceiling. But that lasted less than a few seconds before he dragged his gaze across the stained, tattered cloths hanging from all four walls of the room.

Everything in that moment seemed to slow; Miles took a good look around at everything his eyes would let him. Dingy clothes matching the suspect’s strewn across a table, glass jars lined in a row and stained with red; a chair with ropes winding around the center of the room, and the smell of bleach lingering in the air.

Miles took a frantic step back, grabbing hold the railing of the stairwell as he scanned the floor. The light above began to flicker; he felt for the phone in his pocket, whipping the device’s camera open just as the bulb went out.

The journalist breathed heavily, flipping on his camera’s night-vision mode. As he looked to the floor, he practically cried out in fear. Without the camera, the floor looked normal. Untouched. But with it on, he could now see stains splattered against the wood, covering almost every corner.

Of course, Miles made sure he took pictures of everything before he raced back up the stairs, certain he was going to leave and take the evidence straight to the authorities. He’d gotten want he’d wanted, and then some.

But once Miles stepped back onto the lit floor of the workroom, he froze, eyes meeting another pair at the door leading into the shop. The figure was huge and was already standing in the light. Miles gulped once he realized that it was Gluskin who was staring at him.

Both men looked to the garage door, then back at each other.

And he ran.

* * *

Waylon hugged his legs to his chest, trying to see through the darkness.

“Eddie?” He called out, placing his hands onto the black floor beneath him. “Eddie?”

A hand on his shoulder. “Darling?”

Just as he turned to meet the eyes of Eddie Gluskin, another voice boomed throughout the void surrounding them. “I had almost feared you would never come. You’ve made this easier.”

Eddie helped Waylon up, both of them searching to meet the voice of the newcomer. But no matter where they looked, there was no one. Not even a silhouette.

“Wait,” Waylon took a step back, reaching for what he now noticed was a white string tied around his ankle. “How come this wasn’t here before?”

Waylon’s eyes trailed between Eddie and the string. “What the hell is this…?”

Eddie grasped Waylon’s hands before bringing his gaze down to his own leg, not entirely surprised to find a white string around his as well. When he looked closer, he found that they were attached; one end tied to Eddie, the other to Waylon.

“Do you have any idea who you murdered?”

They heard the voice again, but this time, it had a face. The woman from Eddie’s sleepless dreams stood only a few feet away, hands folded behind her back. Her head was tilted to them in curiosity, dark skin practically glowing.

When neither man responded, the woman sighed. “For lack of a better term, your soulmate. You murdered your soulmate. Curious; it rarely ever happens. I’ve only seen it a handful of times.”

“My… What?” Eddie asked, flabbergasted. He released Waylon’s hands almost immediately.

“I did say it was a bad term,” The woman chuckled, gesturing towards the string resting at their feet. “I couldn’t think of a way to describe it that you would understand.”

“Who are you,” Eddie demanded, taking an aggravated step forward. Waylon flinched, but the woman didn’t so much as blink at the show of hostility. She seemed amused, if anything.

“I have many names,” She answered, raising a hand towards Waylon, “Usually it’s the dead that name me. He already has; before he was sent to you, when he died.” She tilted her hand, pointing a ring-clad finger towards Waylon.

Eddie looked to the blonde, giving him am expression that read easily as, _‘So? What is it?’_

Waylon visibly blushed, bringing a hand to scratch the back of his head. “Ah… It’s Lisa.”

Eddie raised a brow, his attention still focused on the blonde. “How’d you come up with that?”

“I don’t know, is this really what we’re going to talk about?”

“I’d assumed you’d have questions for me as well,” The woman who Waylon had named Lisa chimed in, her lips still holding an amused smirk. “-Since I can’t necessarily answer any in an unsteady dream state. You had to have found me.”

Eddie shook his head, finally giving the woman- Lisa- his attention. He held out his arms, huffing. “What the hell is going on?”

“Good question,” Waylon cackled, earning a light shove from Eddie in response.

Lisa laughed as well, “That _is_ a lot to explain,” She said, casting her eyes down to their feet. “Most people are attached to someone else through the same string that’s at your feet. Some don’t have it. And it’s not something that’s visible in the real world; it only exists here, between life and death. Only I can allow people to see it.”

Before Eddie could speak, Lisa raised a hand. “I’ve existed as long as the first lifeform on this planet. I was not always a human. I guide the leading species. As of now, it’s humans.”

Eddie saw Waylon lean towards him out of the corner of his eye, lowering his voice. “Just remember, I barely know any more than you do. This sounds just as crazy to you as it does to me.”

Lisa wasn’t deterred by Waylon’s commentary. She continued. “Not everyone will find their ‘soulmate’ before they die. People who marry don’t always marry their pair, either. That’s why I was hesitant to use the word ‘soulmate’; I know the theory on earth is much different than what it actually is.

“Edward Gluskin; you killed your other half. And you’re dying because of it.”

“It feels that way sometimes,” Eddie grumbled, sending Waylon a sympathetic look.

“No,” Lisa furrowed her brows, lips pressing together in a thin line. “I mean, you’re _actually dying_. If you kill your other half, it kills you, too. Just slower. That’s why I sent Waylon Park back. If the string snaps, then everything is disrupted. The chain believes it’s made an error. That’s why you’ve been in extreme pain ever since his death. I wanted to fix this, before things get out of hand.”

Both Eddie and Waylon’s eyes widened, looking to each other for moral support. Eddie closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Well, what happens if this isn’t fixed by the time I die?”

“Then you die; completely. There will be no second life for you.” Lisa sighed. “And Park will be left in that exact spot on earth, forever. Your shop could be demolished in a nuclear war and he’d be stuck there. The planet could _die,_ and he’d still be there. That same point, eternally.”

“Well, thinking _optimistically,”_ Said Waylon, voice cracking from nervousness. “What happens if we do fix it?”

Lisa shrugged. “Then everything will be restored to the way it was.”

“He’ll still be gone?” Eddie furrowed his brows, afraid of the incoming answer.

“That’s a bit more complicated,” Said Lisa, and to Eddie, it seemed like she was thinking hard. “You’d have to fix it first.”

“What does that _mean_ though?” Waylon asked.

“Just tell me what I have to do,” Eddie snapped.

Lisa raised both of her hands. “Alright, calm down. I… Wait.”

As Lisa’s voice trailed off, she flickered out of view. Eddie and Waylon stepped back, looking around the darkness in search of her. She was gone.

“Eddie, I-” Waylon began, taking a step towards the larger man once Lisa flickered back into view, now looking much more concerned than before.

It only took her a few strides, but she clasped each of their hands, one at a time. “Please, come here again once this is over. There’s a small situation. Find a way around it, and then come again. I’ll explain everything else when you’re ready.”

Lisa shattered, along with the darkness around them. The floor collapsed beneath their feet, both man and specter jolting upright on the hardwood floor.

“Dammit…” Eddie cursed, bringing his hands up to his head as an intense headache pounded against the back of his skull. What just happened?

“What kind of situation…?” Eddie heard Waylon ask beside him. Just as the words left his lips, a small ‘slam’ thudded against what Eddie quickly predicted was the floor below.

“What was that?” Waylon whispered behind him, his voice an octave higher. “Let’s check it out. Want me to go ahead?”

Eddie nodded, standing along with Waylon before grabbing the kitchen knife he’d discarded earlier. His first thought had been to check the time, but it was quickly discarded as he watched Waylon flicker out of view, and he began descending the stairwell.

He clutched the knife to his side, expecting the supposed intruder to be on the main floor of the shop. He growled under his breath as he stepped onto the main floor, practically thrusting himself behind the front desk to check for anyone lurking behind it.

“Maybe something fell?” Waylon suggested from the other end of the room, looking behind several racks of eveningwear.

Eddie didn’t want to believe it was nothing; the slam had been particularly loud, like two pieces of metal clashing against each other. Which left one other possibility…

The tailor’s eyes narrowed to the door of his workroom, the light inside barely peeking out beneath the crack. Eddie’s teeth ground together as he pushed the door open, eyes scanning over the interior within seconds.

He looked to the trap door across the room; it was open, and uncovered. Before he could move to inspect it, a series of thundering footsteps echoed upwards before a man appeared from the cellar.

Eddie instantly recognized the man as Miles Upshur, the knife dropping from his hand once they both locked onto each other’s presence. They both remained still, unblinking.

Eddie watched as the reporter singled out the back door with his eyes; a chair had been propping it open, probably made to be used as an escape route. Or so he assumed; it was quite obvious.

In that instant, Miles ran for it. Eddie bolted in the same direction, slamming the man against the wall beside the door just as the brunette’s hand reached for the doorframe.

“Filthy slut,” Eddie snapped, moving a hand to clutch the man’s throat. “Why did you come here?!”

_“Eddie, STOP!”_

Eddie turned to the echo of Waylon’s voice in the doorway; the blonde had a mix of emotions flickering over his features, eyes glossy and wet. The tailor wrenched himself back to the intruder, tossing him to the ground.

As soon as Miles hit the floor, he pulled out a pocket knife, holding it out beneath him. “Back the _fuck_ up, you sicko!”

Eddie did so, but he shot for the kitchen knife he’d dropped just as he took the first step. Miles stood, back to trying the garage door when Eddie kicked his legs out beneath him, the reporter’s head smacking painfully against the floor. He kicked the chair out next, the door slamming shut.

 _“Miles?!”_ Waylon called out frantically, footsteps approaching. But Eddie didn’t care. Miles couldn’t hear him.

“Away from the door,” Said Eddie as he grabbed hold of Miles’ legs, yanking him further into the room. The journalist struggled with his knife, slashing at the air around him.

“Eddie!” Waylon yelled even louder than before, pulling the tailor back while Eddie still had a hold of Miles’ legs. “If you do this, I’ll _never_ forgive you!”

Miles kicked and screamed beneath him from the added force, trying and failing to yank his feet away from the monstrous hold. Eddie let go, making sure the brunette was effectively cornered. When Miles shot up and held out the knife, panting. “Start talking, you sick fuck!”

 _“Eddie Gluskin,”_ Waylon spoke firmly behind him, tone harsh. “Drop. The. Knife.”

Eddie wasn’t sure why he chose to obey his darling’s orders… but he did. He let the kitchen knife fall from his grasp, bringing his hands up by his sides. It was really just a poor attempt to show the journalist that he wasn’t trying to be a threat… not anymore, at least.

“Listen very carefully you whore,” Said Eddie, voice as cold as ice. “I know why you’re here.”

“Of course,” Miles’ stuttering voice responded, hands shaking as he held the knife as tight as he could. “You’re going down, fucker.”

 _“Listen,”_ Eddie hissed, on the verge of beating the man’s ass into the ground due to his lack of cooperation. “I’ll tell you what you want to hear right now; Waylon Park was killed by me. But he’s _here_. I’m trying to help him.”

“Mother _fuc-!”_

“This sounds crazy!” Eddie tried again, remaining as still as he could manage. “I thought so to when he started haunting the damn store! But he told me to drop the knife. He’s been a specter in the shop for a while now.”

“You really _are_ crazy,” Miles laughed, but there was no humor behind it. The journalist took a step forward, pointing his knife towards Eddie’s chest. “This is how the game ends.”

Eddie thought back; suddenly… _‘The piano. Maybe that could be it.’_ He took a step forward as well; it seemed to intimidate the journalist well enough, retreating into himself at the gesture, “I can prove it. But you have to come with me,” Said Eddie, pointing to the door that led into the rest of the shop.

“Like hell I will,” Miles retaliated.

“-Or I can kill you now.” Eddie continued, kicking the kitchen knife back over to his feet. “You are the one that broke in here, after all. You think Sixth Street is the only lane that has security cameras?”

Miles’ eyes were wide and full of both fear and hatred, scanning over Eddie as he considered his options. After a full minute of silence, Miles took another step forward without lowering his knife. “Fine. But you stay back, or I’ll hit and run.”

Waylon let out a sigh of relief from behind them both. Eddie turned to him, putting a hand on his waist. “Go upstairs, to the piano.”

“Lunatic,” Eddie heard Miles whispered under his breath as he passed him, knife never diverting from its direction. He led Miles to the staircase, gesturing for him to follow.

“This is fucking crazy…” Eddie continuously heard Miles mumble under his breath as they ascended, but he couldn’t bring himself to do more than roll his eyes until they were standing beside the piano. Miles Upshur sounded just as crazy as he did with all the rambling.

“Well?” Miles shouted, pointing his knife between Eddie and the piano. “What now, psychopath?”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he looked to Waylon, already situated in the seat. He seemed unsure of what he should be doing; until Eddie told him to hit a few keys.

“The piano could just be self-playing.” Miles grunted angrily behind him, letting out an aggravated snort as he looked to what seemed an empty chair in front of the piano. “Hey _‘Waylon’,_ if it’s really you, then play that song we learned when we were kids.”

Eddie turned back to Waylon, watching the smaller man smile anxiously as he begun the song he’d told Eddie about when the tailor had first allowed him to use the piano. Once Eddie got a good look at Miles, the man seemed lost, hurt; but most of all, shocked.

“What the fuck is this…?” Miles wheezed, holding his forehead. The knife retracted, but still remained close to his chest.

Eddie didn’t move as he responded. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’ve done something I need to fix; and now, you’re going to help me.”

“Like hell I am,” Miles spat, stretching the knife forward once more.

Eddie raised his hands beside his head again, quickly growing tired of the man’s antics. “You came here. Or would you prefer to _die?”_

At his words, Miles’ gaze lined up with the door again. Before he had the chance to bolt Eddie was one step ahead of him, throwing a swift punch into the side of the man’s head. He was out in an instant, the tailor barely catching him before he collapsed onto the floor.

“Eddie, what the hell?!” Waylon yelled from behind, yanking him back from Miles’ unconscious body.

“I needed a way to bring him to see that woman,” Eddie whispered, pulling Miles’ knife out from his limp hands. He used it to make a small cut into Miles’ palm, dragging both him and the blood to the mark they’d made earlier.

They both remained silent as Eddie positioned Miles correctly, beginning to open his own old wound again, “Why was he even here…? How did he find out?” Waylon finally asked, kneeling by his side.

Eddie paused; should he come clean? Should he tell Waylon about Miles’ previous visit?

_‘You love him, don’t you?’_

“He…” Eddie trailed off, barely meeting Waylon’s eyes as he confessed. “He came here once before, darling. While you were asleep. He asked me about you; if I knew anything about your death.”

“He… What?”

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Eddie began, but was quickly cut off by Waylon’s voice.

“Eddie, are you kidding me?!” Waylon shouted, his voice ringing throughout the room like a siren’s. “My best friend comes and asks about me any you just-?!”

“We just need to show him,” Eddie bit back with a growl of his own. “Go back to sleep.”

“…Fine.” Waylon stammered, lying down on the wooden floor. “Have it your way.”

Eddie watched him turn his back, scooting as far away from him as possible. He tried to convince himself that everything would be okay once they saw Lisa again. And it almost worked.


	11. Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles gets to talk to his long-lost friend.

Eddie barely evaded the fist thrown towards him.

“Where the fuck are we?!” Miles shouted into the darkness; well, to Eddie more specifically.

“Calm down,” Eddie snapped, grabbing Miles’ upper arms. He was barely maintaining his own cool with this infuriating man screaming in his ear every other second. If it wasn’t justifiable, Eddie would’ve beaten the man to death. “Patience.”

Miles opened his mouth to respond, choking on his words as a soft ‘whoosh’ of air zipped past them. Eddie let Miles go, looking over the man’s shoulder instead. 

So Waylon had finally fallen asleep.

When Eddie tried to earn the smaller man’s gaze, he was met with an icy cold wall as Waylon focused on the back of Miles’ jacket instead. Eddie sighed, pushing the blundering journalist away.

“Miles?”

Miles turned on his heels so fast that Eddie was surprised the man didn’t have whiplash. Maybe if they were still in the real world, it would’ve been possible. But they weren’t in the real world. They were in Lisa’s own little sanctuary between life and death; and in it, Miles could see Waylon as if things had never changed.

“Waylon…?” Miles whispered, eyes flickering over his dead friend frantically as if making sure he was real. In less than a second Waylon lunged forward, both men enveloping themselves in each other’s arms.

“Miles…” Waylon practically cried, burying his face in Miles’ shoulder.

“Is it actually you?” Miles spoke so softly that Eddie barely heard it himself. The older man already felt a small flare of jealousy at their reunion; Waylon hadn’t even given him a passing glance before tackling his old friend.

 _‘It’s justified, it’s justified…’_ Eddie continued to repeat like a mantra in the back of his mind, clearing any negative thoughts he may be having. Yet the obscene levels of jealousy remained no matter how hard he tried…

He just had to control it. Eddie tore his gaze away from the two, pretending to busy himself with his shirt. It was a way to shift his thoughts and maintain his sanity. The act was working well enough already.

“Yeah; but still dead as can be.” Waylon laughed gently, pushing back on Miles’ shoulders. “Oh god, I missed you, Miles.”

“I missed you too, man.” Said Miles, letting out a faint laugh of his own. He placed his hands on either side of Waylon’s head, rocking him as gently as he could. “But if this is some whacked-out dream of mine and I wake up within the next few minutes, then my brain is a sick son of a bitch.”

Waylon laughed again, sharper, louder. “It is a dream, in a way. I mean, you were knocked unconscious in order for us to bring you here. We all had to fall asleep together so I could to talk to you.”

“Uh… Yeah,” Miles began, shifting his gaze back towards where Eddie was still working on his already pristine shirt. Eddie knew he was staring, so he decided to glare back twice as hard. Miles winced, tilting his head towards Waylon. “By the way, enlighten me; what the _hell_ is going on?”

Waylon finally looked Eddie in the eyes; he seemed to be a mix of both saddened and ticked. The blonde sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s… A long story.”

“I’m a journalist, Waylon. I’m all about long stories.”

Eddie glanced around, hoping Lisa would show up within the next few seconds and break up the awkward tension building between the three of them. But, no. She was nowhere to be found, and it was probably on purpose.

 _‘Crazy bitch,_ ’ Eddie thought to himself, and himself alone.

“According to a woman we’ve been speaking to Eddie and I are attached mentally, like a complicated version of those dumb soulmate theories people used to talk about when we were in high school. Whenever she appears there’s this white string that attaches our ankles together,” Said Waylon, gesturing to his feet. 

“Long story short, Eddie killed me and as a consequence is in the process of dying himself. We’re trying to find a way to fix things so that he doesn’t die, and I don’t have to stay stuck in his shop after he does; or if something bad happens. And we’d… Been through some things together before we figured all of this out.”

Eddie watched Miles raise a suspicious eyebrow, eying him up and down. “What kind of things?”

Both Eddie and Waylon turned away, blushing. The red hue was much more prominent over Waylon’s cheeks; and once Miles put the pieces together, he groaned. “Waylon-- are you fucking _kidding me_ right now?!”

Waylon covered his face with his hands, the blush traveling to the tips of his ears and neck at the speed of light. Eddie watched with mild amusement as Miles shook the man back and forth. “So you’re telling me you had sex with him?!”

“I only jerked him off, I swear!” Waylon cried, shifting out of Miles’ steely hold.

“Oooh my goood,” Miles groaned even louder, holding his forehead in his hand. “Okay, I definitely want this to be a dream now. Tell me. Waylon, tell me it is.”

Eddie ignored Miles’ blabbering as the journalist pinched himself; Eddie was only glad that he had Waylon back again. He took a step towards the two, his main focus being Waylon, “I’m sorry, darling.” He spoke softly, placing a hand on the back of his own neck through his shame.

“It’s okay,” Waylon mumbled, shoving Miles. He allowed Eddie a small smile before he gained his friend’s attention again, disrupting the journalist’s mumbling. “Miles, stop.”

“Do you love him, Waylon?” Miles asked quietly, body turned to Waylon but his eyes cast to the floor. He couldn’t look at either one of them.

Justifiable.

Waylon pursed his lips, placing a hand on Miles’ shoulder. The journalist finally looked up, brown hair falling over his eyes. “…Yes. I do, Miles.”

Miles rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked to Eddie next, turning a shoulder up. “What about you, huh? Or is this just another part of whatever sick game you’re playing with my best friend?”

Eddie snarled, his resolve nearly breaking at the man’s words. He stared long and hard at Miles before answering. “I regret my actions. All of them. Waylon never deserved to die, and as punishment, I was forced to fall in love with the ghost of the man I could’ve loved while he was still breathing.”

Both Miles and Waylon’s eyes widened, the latter’s blush returning tenfold. Miles’ jaw dropped, snapping shut as he took a good long look between the two of them.

“You’re a tough, crazy son of a bitch, Waylon.” Miles finally sighed, brushing the loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “…Well… I guess there’s no negotiating with a dead man. And I’m not one of those assholes that makes someone choose ‘me or him’ or whatever, so…”

“You definitely seem like the type,” Eddie mumbled under his breath, huffing.

“Hey,” Miles protested, taking the few steps it did to shove Eddie’s chest. “Don’t go sassing the man who just gave you his fucking blessing. _Very regrettably,_ by the way.”

“He’s not your _child.”_

“That may be true, but I could list five people off of the top of my head that would be better from him; starting with the fact that none of them _murdered_ him.”

“Are… Are you guys seriously fighting over me right now?” Waylon tried to interrupt nearby, but it was useless. They were too far gone.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m the one that decided to bring you here. I should’ve killed you as soon as I saw you and figured this out myself.”

“You know, possessiveness and control aren’t good qualities in a relationship. What, daddy didn’t love you enough?”

“He’s an adult capable of making his own decisions, you whore.”

“A decision you probably _brainwashed_ him into making!”

“Shut _up!”_ Waylon shouted, storming in between them. “I haven’t heard anybody ask me how I feel about any of this! The fuck’s the matter with you two?!”

“See? Now you pissed him off,” Miles cackled darkly. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

_“Ungrateful-!”_

“Back so soon?” Lisa finally spoke in front of them, pausing as she took in the three brawling men. She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Eddie cut in sharply, taking a step back from Miles. “I’ll be the adult first. We’re fine.”

“Oh, you piece of shit--”

“This is certainly not how I’d imagined the situation would’ve been handled,” Lisa chuckled, turning her attention to Miles. “Hello, Mr. Upshur. Nice to finally meet you, albeit much earlier than I’d expected.”

Miles sized the woman up, jaw cracking as he shifted. “Uh… Hi. Who are you, exactly?”

“Lisa,” Waylon answered in a mumble beside him, tilting his head in the direction of the woman.

“I watch over the living and the dead,” She explained, gesturing between Eddie and Waylon. “They came to me, and they’re trying to fix what they broke.”

Just as she spoke a light flickered between the two men mentioned, the same string as before forming between their ankles. All four looked down, watching a knot tie them together.

Miles rolled his eyes, sighing. “I don’t read enough for my mind to come up with a dream like this.”

Lisa ruffled her hair, sighing. “Well, since there are three of you now, I assume it’d be as good a time as any to finish our conversation about fixing all of this. I can only direct you step by step, so you all need to listen very carefully.”

Once she was certain they were in fact listening, she began, “You’re going to need to retrieve three things in order for this to work. Three bags of O positive blood; Park’s blood type. A first aid kit with emergency supplies, and…” She trailed off before her last words, lips pressing together.

They all stood in silence for less than two seconds before Miles growled. “Oh come on, if I’m going to become part of this crazy plan then you guys can’t leave me in the dark. Tell us what we need to get, and what all of this is going to achieve.”

“You’re going to need Park’s body,” Lisa finalized. “-Intact. As intact as you can get it. The goal is to wake him up.”

“Wait- he’s coming back?” Miles asked, stunned. “How is that even possible? Why don’t you bring people back all the time?”

“This is a very bad situation; I can’t just do it on anyone. Along with that, there’ll be some… Complications, while he tries to wake up. This isn’t any easy fix.”

Eddie stepped in next. “What are the complications?”

“That’ll matter when we get to it,” Lisa explained, placing a hand to her chest. “As of now, that’s what I request of you. Once you have all of the items together, draw the same symbol on the floor that you did last night; Gluskin and Upshur, you’ll need to add your blood and sit opposite of each other. Speak; then I’ll help you along with the next steps.”

“That’s it?” Waylon asked, hands twitching by his sides. “It seems almost too easy.”

Lisa shook her head, “Trust me—in time,” Her voice lowered, darkening. “-It won’t be.”

Waylon paused, a sudden realization hitting him like a train, “Oh shit,” He gasped, voice shivering. “My family usually cremates our relatives when they pass; shit! There won’t be a body to-!”

“It’s okay,” Miles spoke up, grinning. “Thankfully, your family wanted to make everything expensive and grand, so they’ve been saving up. Just in the nick of time, too. Your body’s still in the morgue.”

Eddie groaned, rubbing his temples. “So you’re telling me we’re going to have to raid a _morgue?”_

Miles narrowed his eyes, frowning. “…’We’?”

“Yes, ‘we’,” Eddie scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “You want this done just as much as I do.”

The journalist groaned similar to how a child would when given a task, throwing his arms up in frustration. “Fiiiine.”

“I’ll let the three of you figure it out.” Said Lisa.

“Wait,” Said Miles, wanting to ask one more question before the mysterious woman left. “Will I be able to see Waylon after this?”

Lisa’s smile faltered, “No. I’m afraid not.” She nodded to Eddie. “He’s the only one that can. I’m sure you’ll all manage to work something out.”

And with that, Lisa disappeared. All three men sighed, Miles hunching over. They gave each other a series of looks, at least until Waylon broke it off. “Eddie, would you mind acting as a sort of translator for me to Miles?”

The older man looked to Waylon, then Miles. He sized him up, frowning.

When Waylon didn’t get a response right away he walked over to Eddie, placing a hand on his chest. “Please, Eddie. This is serious.”

“…Anything for you, darling.” Eddie gave in, allowing a small smile to fall over his lips.

Miles gagged from his position a few feet away, a finger resting just outside of his mouth. “Ugh, I think those drinks I had before are going to come back and say hello with you two canoodling like heathens…”

“That’s not canoodling,” Eddie chuckled darkly, dragging a startled Waylon’s lips to his own.

The journalist made an even louder gag, turning away. “Okay stop, _stop._ Are you sure this is the real Waylon?”

Both men laughed, Miles barely having the chance to look over his shoulder before they fell. They jolted up over the hardwood floor almost instantly, headaches pounding inside of the two that were alive. The sun blinded through the window, revealing an early sunrise.

“Fuck me,” Miles groaned, clutching his head. “Ugh, great. This on top of a hangover is just peachy…”

Waylon chuckled beside Eddie, standing up off of the floor. “Get over it, you big baby.”

The blonde paused after a few seconds of no response, quickly diverting his gaze to the floor. Eddie noticed; he turned to Miles. “He said, ‘Get over it, you big baby.’”

“Ha-ha,” Miles laughed humorlessly, clutching his stomach as he picked his pocketknife up off of the floor. He flipped him off, looking around the semi-unfamiliar room. “Fuck you. Where’s the bathroom around here?”

Eddie pointed to the door down the hall. Miles nodded, practically sprinting to the facility. Once the door slammed shut Eddie sighed, turning to Waylon. “Darling, I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am about everything.”

“Mhm, shut up.” Said Waylon, placing a hand to Eddie’s lips before he wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. “I’m just glad you controlled yourself enough to get through everything so far.”

“I learned it from you,” Eddie whispered, leaning down for a kiss.

Waylon squeaked into his, his arms slowly wrapping further around Eddie’s neck. It was nice, finally being back.

Before either had the chance to take things further, a loud slam followed by a shout could be heard down the hall, “Come on, you cut my palm open, asshole? Really?!” The journalist shouted from behind the bathroom door.

Waylon threw his head back, bursting into a fit of laughter. Eddie stepped away, letting out a few chuckles of his own as he walked to the bathroom door. He had to make sure the idiot inside hadn’t broken anything valuable. Lord knows he’d do it, too.

* * *

Jeremy slammed his phone shut, an agitated twitch easily detectable in his eye as he stormed down the hall. He threw the device at the wall, continuing on.

“Mr. Blaire!” Their intern, Steve, called out from his desk, picking up Jeremy’s discarded phone before chasing after his supervisor. “Are you alright?”

“Everything’s great, Steve. Get back to work.” The C.E.O. snapped, throwing a harsh glare towards the intern before snatching the phone out of his feeble hands. Jeremy slammed the doors open to his office, waltzing inside as the polished metal closed just as harshly behind him.

He threw himself into the leather chair of his desk almost immediately, tossing the phone over the fine wood table. He stared up at the ceiling, mind racing. _‘First my software engineer, now my lead…’_

Miles Upshur had ignored three e-mails and two calls from his secretary within the last twenty-four hours. When he’d sent people out to look for the man, they had all come up with nothing. Once Jeremy had become fed up he’d started his own look around, returning with the same results as the others.

Family, friends, neighbors; all contacted, but no answers. Not even a red jeep anywhere on the side of the road. It was suspicious. Too suspicious for his liking.

They’d just begun pulling up leads on the suspect’s car, too. A few locals had agreed to talk with their agents and confess that they’d seen a scratched up vehicle matching the look of the feeds. Not any good descriptions of the man’s appearance, though; just ‘tall’ and ‘hefty’.

They _knew_ that already. They needed new leads. Blaire had been confident that Miles would’ve been able to provide some; and he had.

But not anymore; the journalist was now nowhere to be found. He couldn’t have just skipped town; as much as Jeremy despised him, Upshur didn’t work like that. But going into hiding… that could be a possibility. He’d always seemed to be stockpiling for something big.

They’d even run a full check of his house; but still, nothing. What kind of game was he playing? What did Miles Upshur think he could get away with?

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

Jeremy had all the money in the world. Despite operating in a small town like Leadville, Murkoff was a big company overall. And with Leadville being the small town it was, it meant they had eyes and ears everywhere. That included Miles Upshur’s vehicle.

The only logical solution seemed to round to sending a small party out to look for the man. He needed Miles now more than ever, as painful as it was to admit. Jeremy didn’t like having to rely on people; people were dirty and untrustworthy.

But Miles Upshur had earned enough trust for Blaire to consider letting him in on the rest of the investigation. Enough that he would try to contact him and have people looking for him.

So that’s what he decided to do. Jeremy got on the phone, calling the head of his security and grinding out his demands; that they’d start searching for Miles and his trademark jeep both in and out of town until they could find him.

Maybe the suspect had found him first. And that just made things all the more interesting.


	12. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: The hunt for blood.

Miles locked the door, shoving his keys into his pocket. He didn’t have any time to waste. He ran into his bedroom, yanking a backpack off of the hook by the door.

He’d returned to his small home for only the amount of time it’d take him to grab the rest of his cash and as many pairs of clothing as he could carry. Gluskin’s shop wasn’t particularly far from where he lived. As much as Miles despised the man, he knew that with what they were planning on doing, he’d need to stay on the down-low.

As soon as Miles had gotten back into his jeep that evening, his phone had nearly blown up with a series of calls, messages and e-mails. Most of them were from the same source; Murkoff. They must be looking for him.

Which was another good reason Miles drove back home; he wanted to leave his phone there to avoid being tracked. He’d been away for a little over a day, so the chances of Murkoff and Blaire having already traced his location through his phone were slim to none.

Miles’ breath came to him rapidly as he raided his drawers, grabbing random piles of everything and just stuffing, stuffing. He zipped up the bag once he was sure he was done, tossing it over his shoulder. He walked into the kitchen next, grabbing the spare change left in a cup on the counter.

Oh god; was this really happening? Miles could hardly believe the reality of it all.

It had to be; Gluskin would’ve killed him long ago if it wasn’t. The dream had been going on for too long to be anything but real life now.

Miles had spent the day by himself trying to suck as much information as he could from Gluskin; and, what he could only assume was Waylon’s words. Things were hard; Miles had forced himself to refrain from crying twice throughout the course of the day.

He wasn’t even an overly emotional guy for crying out loud! The circumstances were definitely taking a toll on him now if they hadn’t before; things had taken a turn Miles would’ve never been able to dream of.

Miles let out a long, much-needed yell up at his ceiling. It was only a few seconds, but felt as if it could’ve lasted an eternity. He feared it’d be the only time he’d be able to let go and get everything out of his system for a while.

The journalist threw the cash container across the room as soon as it was empty as another method of venting his frustrations. He wanted to whine, yell, kick and scream. He wanted to be a child, if only for an hour or so.

But instead he gathered himself up, adjusted the bag on his shoulder, and unlocked the front door. He walked out into the pouring rain, chin held high.

He could be a child another day. For now, he had work to do.

* * *

The electricity had gone off at exactly eight-forty seven PM, one hour after Miles had returned to the shop. The storm outside raged across Leadville harder than it ever had throughout the previous weeks; why was it always raining? Shouldn’t it be snowing?

Eddie sighed, watching the gasoline lantern flicker shadows across the living room table. He had situated himself on the couch while Waylon sat on the floor beside Miles; of course, the journalist didn’t know that. Eddie didn’t care to mention it to the him, either.

“I know there are three of us here,” Miles mumbled, adjusting the lantern. “But this is still weird.”

Eddie only grunted in response. He stood, picking up one of the flashlights off of the table before heading into the kitchen. His stomach had been protesting for hours now; he needed food.

“Got any alcohol?” Miles asked from his seat, waving a hand to get Eddie’s attention. The older man grunted again, pulling several packaged items out of the refrigerator before stuffing them all back in again.

Once he returned, he tossed a beer bottle at Miles without any warning, the journalist nearly losing his hold as soon as he had it. Eddie plopped back down onto the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. He yanked the lid off of a can of apple sauce, digging in.

“I’m sure if anyone here was close to being friends,” Miles grumbled around the first swig of his drink. “This might actually be relaxing.”

“What do you mean?” Waylon asked curiously beside Miles. Eddie repeated the question over.

Miles smacked his lips obnoxiously as he put his glass bottle down onto the table. Thunder boomed outside the window as he replied, “Look, despite the fact that I’ve agreed to go through with this, it’s all still crazy to me. I’m supposed to be working with the man that killed my best friend.” Miles leaned over the table, narrowing his eyes at the tailor. “Got anything to say?”

“I already told you that if I could change what happened that day, I would.” Eddie whispered low, placing the can of apple sauce onto the table before leaning back into the couch.

Miles took another swig. “Is he the only person you’ve killed?”

The room fell silent; Miles hummed, parting the bottle from his lips. “Figures.”

Before Eddie could retort, Miles crackled his neck, sighing. “Alright. Well, we haven’t talked about how we’re going to get all of the shit this Lisa chick told us to find. With the sources I have, it shouldn’t be too hard. I’d like to see you pull this off without me.”

Eddie growled through the back of his throat, tossing his arms over the back of the sofa. “Well? Spit it out.”

“Aggressive,” Miles taunted, waving his hands next to his ears. “I’ve got a doctor-friend, outside of town. Well, not really a friend- acquaintance? Anyway, he can hook us up with the blood and first-aid for the right price.”

“And how much would this doctor want?” Eddie asked, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice. He failed.

Miles shrugged. “He’s certainly a greedy son of a bitch, and blood ain’t cheap. But he knows me; if we both put in one-fifty, we could probably skim by and get a few bags. We’ll take the jeep since your car is… y’know, wanted.”

“This is why I never ask about the people you talk to out of work…” Waylon sighed beside Miles, rubbing his temples. Eddie didn’t think it was necessary to let Miles hear that particular comment; Waylon didn’t seem like he desperately wanted him to, anyway.

Eddie nodded, continuing through his questions. “I suppose it’s safe to assume you know where they’re keeping Waylon’s body?”

“West side of town,” Miles answered, leaning back against the hardwood floor. “We’ll save that for another day. I think the blood and aid are all I’ll be in the mood to go for tomorrow. Getting into the morgue is going to be the risky part, so it’d be best to save it for the day after… or the one after that.”

“Remembering that our time is starting to run out,” Waylon added, tapping the side of his head. He had an edge to his voice; Eddie couldn’t help but feel down.

Eddie sat up straighter, making a grab at his previously discarded snack. “That’ll be tomorrow’s plan, then.”

Things fell back into an uneasy silence after that. No one dared to speak; Waylon played with his hands beside Miles, who continued to finish his beer. Eddie dug at his applesauce until he had to start scooping the edges for scraps.

When seconds turned into minutes, the tension drained if only a little. Several flashes of lightning had passed outside, and the gasoline lantern continuing to flicker. Rain pounded against the ceiling above, giving the darkness an ominous feeling.

Eddie watched Miles carefully as he tossed his now-empty bottle onto the table, letting out a disgusting belch. The tailor snarled, kicking the coffee table. Miles chuckled like a drunken man would, causing a series of giggles to release from the blonde beside him as well.

One the laughter died down, the atmosphere turned awkward once more. Miles sighed, leaning over the table. His expression suddenly dropped to seriousness, voice strained. “Do you ever intend to give those families the justice they deserve by turning yourself in?”

Miles Upshur wasn’t called an investigative journalist for nothing. Eddie thought the man’s words over, tasting them on his tongue before deciding to humor him. “I intend to make things right.”

“That’s an evasive answer,” Said Miles, his tone remaining firm. “Are you going to do the time?”

Eddie paused, casting his eyes over to Waylon. The blonde had a hand over his mouth, looking as though he were thinking hard as he stared at the floor beside him. Waylon glanced over to him in return, expression unreadable.

“I don’t know,” Eddie finally confessed.

Miles leaned back once more, grunting. “This is all going to go to shit once it’s over; I hope you know that.”

As much as Eddie never wanted to admit it, Miles was right. No matter what he did, there really wasn’t a way to avoid the inevitable. He would be punished.

He remained silent as Miles pressed forward. “You might love Waylon, and he might love you, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you murdered him. I don’t care why. The point is you did it, and there’s no coming back from that.”

Eddie let out a long, agitated sigh. “I know.”

“Then get your act together, and stop hiding. Act like an adult. You’ve been cowering away like a child for god knows how long.”

With that Miles stood, accidently bumping into the coffee table on his way up. Eddie was quick to reach forward, steadying the gasoline-powered light.

“I’m gonna use the leftover water on a quick shower,” Miles declared, grabbing his backpack and another flashlight before walking in the direction of the bathroom. “I assume I’m sleeping on the couch.”

Eddie hummed as a ‘yes’, barely getting the response out into the open before the bathroom door slammed shut. That left Waylon, sitting across from him.

“Darling,” Said Eddie breathlessly. “…I suppose this is as good a time as any to finally tell you. About what happened to me… And why I did everything I had.”

Waylon sat up, scooting closer to the side of the table. He folded his arms over the topside, eyes intent. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, Eddie. I understand.”

“I _want to,”_ Eddie sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “You deserve to know.”

Waylon sat in silence, watching. Eddie took a deep breath in. “When I was small, I was abused by my father and his brother. Mentally, physically; sexually. I’d contemplated suicide when I’d been an incoming high schooler, for a few months. I’d always lived in my own little bubble of hell.

“My father was a good man when he wasn’t angry; as for his brother… he was hardly ever around. But when he was, I would see the worst of him. I had never understood at the time the things that they’d been doing to me had been so… Filthy. How wrong it was.”

He paused, letting out another deep breath. “I’d been brought up in a strict Christian household. My father had once caught me after sexual relations with another man when I had grown older; he’d beaten me to near-death, and had told me to kill the men that tried to get to me. Until I was twenty-one at least. He was my first murder case. I’d covered it all up as a suicide, instead.”

“Oh Eddie…” Waylon sighed, but Eddie simply raised a hand.

“I’d never been a very stable child. I’d grown up with bipolar disorder as well as severe schizophrenia. My mother had sent me to therapy for years. All I did was tell them what they wanted to hear. I’d begun life as an adult, thinking that I could excuse my actions through my past and my illness. It only made me weaker.”

“You’re far from stable, Eddie. I won’t lie to you,” Waylon added, placing his chin in his hands. “But you’ve been learning to live with it, and have begun learning how to accept yourself… If only a little. It’s better than nothing. Love isn’t something that cures you; only you can help yourself.”

Eddie nodded, eyes trailing to the floor. Once he’d felt ready, he told Waylon the details that followed. The men he’d killed, why it’d all happened, and what he’d been responsible for all along.

“Twenty three is a… Big number,” Waylon choked out, trying to control himself to the best of his ability. “Maybe you need to think about a lot of these things, and stop brushing them off like they were just nobodies. They had families, and loved ones.”

They sat quietly for a few more seconds before Waylon whispered. “…I still remember the day I’d come to the shop. Everything had been so small, and quiet. I would’ve never expected that just a few months later, we’d all be here.”

The blonde stood, moving to take a seat beside Eddie. “Despite not actually flirting with you, I had found you ruggedly attractive. And this might sound weird, but I had wondered at the time what you’d have looked like in flannel.”

Eddie snorted, allowing himself to rest an arm over Waylon’s shoulders. “Why would you think _that_ of all things about me?”

“I don’t know, I guess you just kinda had that part-time tailor part-time lumberjack kind of vibe. And hey, that’s another question I had. I haven’t seen any exercise equipment around here; how’d you get so bulked up?”

“Well, lugging bodies around tends to-”

“You know what, forget I asked.”

Eddie shook his head. “I was joking, darling. I used to own the equipment, but it’d more recently worn. I’d been putting off purchasing replacements and instead practicing basic exercises.”

“I haven’t seen you do a single push-up since I’ve been around.”

“You’ve been keeping me busy.”

Waylon let out a short laugh, leaning over just enough to plant his lips under Eddie’s jaw. “At the very least, promise that you’ll wear a flannel before everything goes to shit- at least once.”

Eddie pulled the blonde close to his chest, kissing his forehead. “I’ll see if I have any in my old bins.”

Waylon laughed an ugly laugh, trying to contain it as best as he could. Eddie just held the blonde tighter, pulling himself back onto the couch so he was forced to lie atop his chest. Waylon stuttered, allowing himself to be pulled down into an open-mouthed kiss.

“I hope you know that this looks super weird to me, not being able to see Waylon and everything,” A voice spoke up from behind the couch.

Miles stood a few feet away with wet brown locks of hair barely touching the shoulders of his black t-shirt. The shirt complimented his gray and black flannel sleep pajamas, feet bare. He had a glass of water in hand, eyelids drooped through his boredom. “Like, really weird, actually.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, sitting both him and Waylon up off of the couch. Miles shook his head, walking around the sofa’s perimeter, “If you’re gonna make out or fuck or something, please be so kind as to do it in your bedroom. I know it’s your house and everything, but I _am_ sleeping there after all.”

As Waylon went to stand, Eddie scooped him up instead. He held the smaller man firmly as he stood himself, beginning the short trek it took to the bedroom for the night.

Eddie only heard one last thing from Miles before the lantern turned off and the door was sealed shut.

“Yeah, that still looks weird.”

* * *

“Come on Trager, you’ve gotta hook me up here.”

Miles stood behind the office desk, arms thrown over the counter in impatience. Eddie sat in one of the waiting chairs nearby, magazine in-hand and a foot kicked up over his knee.

“I’m gonna need more than three, buddy. You didn’t just ask for blood,” Rick Trager shrugged, pointing to the first-aid kit already lying on the counter. “We’re low on our supplies at the moment, and I want to keep my job. I’m gonna need more than that.”

“Well, I have another twenty.” Miles sighed, reaching into his wallet in search of the twenty dollar bill stored inside.

Trager let out a full-bellied laugh, grinning a nasty-looking grin. “Still ‘ain’t enough.”

“What if I got you free gas from Frank for the next week?”

“Get the change or get lost, Upshur.”

Miles groaned, allowing himself to slump over in defeat. He wasn’t sure if bitching loud enough would change Trager’s mind; it probably wouldn’t, but it was worth a shot. He stretched his arms out further, letting a myriad of noises fall over the desk.

Trager huffed, whacking Miles with a stack of patient files until the man finally let go in defeat, “Don’t make me get security like last time,” The doctor warned, turning back to his work.

“What’s the issue?”

Miles knew Eddie’s question was directed towards him; the journalist leaned over, huffing as he watched the man approach. “It’s not enough cash, apparently.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, fishing his own wallet out of his back pocket. He rifled through several bills until he found two hundreds, tossing them over the desk in front of Trager. “Is that enough?”

The doctor’s eyes widened with glee; he swiped up the bills in an instant, practically drooling over the paper. Miles wrinkled his nose, turning away.

“Four bags,” Said Eddie, splaying a hand against the counter.

“You got it, buddy.” Trager breathed as he jumped up from his chair, disappearing down the hall.

Once he was gone, Miles raised a brow. “So, you just ever-so-casually keep hundreds in your wallet? Isn’t that a bit risky if someone were to pick-pocket you?”

“If someone tried to take my wallet, then that day would be the last day they spend on this miserable planet.” Eddie snapped impatiently, drumming his fingers against the desk as they waited for the doctor to return.

Trager walked in moments later, a small box in hand. He slid it over the countertop, opening the lid for the two to observe the contents inside. “O positive, four bags like you said. Have a nice afternoon, gentlemen.”

“Yeah thanks,” Miles said quickly, snatching the box off of the counter after the lid had been sealed back up. Eddie grabbed the first-aid kit, following close behind. The two left the hospital with less trouble than they’d anticipated.

“I thought we would’ve had to steal it with how long that took,” Said Miles once they were back inside his jeep. He turned the keys, the engine’s thrumming matching the growl of his stomach.

Before Miles pulled out, he tilted his head towards Eddie, who sat in the passenger seat, “Hey uh…” The brunette chuckled nervously, eyes darting down to Eddie’s pocket. “You wouldn’t happen to have any more cash left on you, would ya?”

Eddie gave the man a dark glare, but Miles persisted. “Oh, come on! I didn’t get breakfast and I’m fuckin’ starving!”

The tailor grunted, leaning back in his seat. “Drive.”

“So is that a yes…?” The journalist asked hopefully.

Eddie raised both of his eyebrows, gesturing out towards the road. Miles pumped his fist onto the ceiling of the car before pulling out of the parking lot and on their way to eat.

Miles had located the nearest burger joint, swerving into the parking lot at the speed of light. Thankfully, both men had received their meals early, preventing forced conversation between them as they ate. Miles was content with it; he didn’t want to talk to the tailor, anyway.

“Can I get another?” Miles asked the waitress, holding up his near-finished burger and fries.

Eddie gave a small snort of disgust from across the table as he took a sip of his soda, trying to ignore the younger man’s request. He looked out the window instead, already bored with being in the small restaurant.

The diner was right on the edge of traffic, so he contented himself with watching cars zoom by. Soon enough, he began counting colors as well. Several black cars had passed already; until one pulled up and into the lot, parking beside Miles’ jeep.

Eddie narrowed his eyes as three men got out of the car, attention fixed intently on the jeep beside them. One of the men looked through the window of the diner; Eddie cast his gaze away, pretending to pick at his meal.

“Upshur,” Eddie whispered harshly to the man across from him. Miles was still stuffing his face full of another round of fries, moaning through the pleasure.

_“Upshur,”_ Eddie snapped louder, picking an ice cube out of his drink before throwing it directly into the other man’s nose.

Miles whined loudly, dropping his handful of fries in favor of cradling his bruised appendage. “What the hell was that for?!”

“Quiet down,” Eddie hissed, nodding his head in the direction of the men outside. “These goons outside are stalking your car.”

The journalist followed Eddie’s trail, finally noticing the group of men piled beside his jeep. Miles’ eyes widened, then narrowed. “…Murkoff.”

“Who?” Eddie asked as Miles stood, picking up their receipt before stuffing it into his pocket.

“We need to leave,” Miles whispered sharply, sliding out of the booth. “Right now. I guess I didn’t calculate the amount of time I’ve been gone.”

Eddie stood as well, but he still had his own temper getting the best of him, “What are you talking about?” He demanded, grabbing hold of Miles’ sleeve.

“We’ve been working back and forth in the investigation to find you,” Miles whispered as low as he could, lips pulled into a grimace. “They’re probably getting antsy because I haven’t exactly had the time to return their calls.”

Just as he finished his explanation, the small chime of a bell above the front door could be heard before three suited men walked into the diner. They ignored the hostess as their eyes immediately locked onto Miles and Eddie.

“You’re Miles Upshur, correct?” One of the men asked as they approached, adjusting his tie as the other two ganged up behind him.

Miles tried to keep his cool, letting out a short breath before rolling his eyes, “Fuck man, I just want to get into my car and drive home. I don’t have time for this.” He responded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You’re going to need to come with us,” The man continued, ignoring Miles’ previous statement. “Mr. Blaire needs to have a meeting with you. He’ll be glad we’ve found you again.”

“Look guys, I already said I don’t have time for this,” Miles huffed; but internally, he was screaming. What the hell was he going to do about this? Fuck Jeremy Blaire!

The man held his emotionless gaze. “You need to follow us.”

“Alright,” Miles sighed, closing his eyes. He let out another long breath before he allowed his eyes to flicker over his shoulder to Eddie. He looked back at the men, brows lowered. “I guess you aren’t gonna make this easy for me.”

Miles sucked in a sharp breath, thrusting himself to the side and over the empty booth beside the three men. He hopped onto the table, grabbing the ledge of the next booth before repeating his actions, “Come on, Gluskin!” Miles yelled over his shoulder as he landed beside the front door, crashing through it almost instantly.

Eddie didn’t waste a single moment before repeating the journalist’s actions, earning several gasps and the attention of the entire restaurant. The men were already after them; Miles was slamming the driver’s side door shut just as Eddie hopped in beside him, thrusting his hand down on the lock.

One of the men slammed against the glass window of the passenger seat, his eyes wild and furious. Miles slammed on the gas, throwing the jeep over the concrete and grass before they were back on the busy road, a car close behind slamming their breaks and honking their horn.

“Don’t go to the shop,” Eddie breathed heavily, grabbing onto the bar above the window. “Lose them first. Left!”

Miles swerved left at the yellow light, several more honks echoing behind them as he yelled back. “You think I don’t know that?!”

They drove for an hour before both Miles and Eddie were certain that Murkoff couldn’t possibly be on top of them anymore. Miles had slowed significantly after the first thirty minutes, cautiousness getting the best of him as he drove down several back roads leading to nowhere.

They arrived back home soon enough. As soon as they entered the shop, Waylon was on them.

“Did you get everything we needed? What the hell happened to you two? Why are you all sweaty?”

Miles had ignored the questions for the simple reason that he couldn’t hear them. He trudged up the stairs to the second floor immediately, a long sigh escaping his lips.

“Murkoff found us,” Eddie answered instead, hanging his coat on a coat rack after they’d ascended the staircase.

“Are they going to come looking here?” The blonde asked nervously, wringing his hands together.

“Doubtful,” Eddie sighed, shaking his head. “We got what we needed, and that’s all that matters. But we can’t keep this up for much longer; we’re going to need to get to that morgue. Soon.”

Miles appeared a few minutes later, wringing his hair out with a towel. “Well, this is just great. We barely got away with grabbing some blood and first-aid supplies. How the hell are we going to get Waylon’s _body?”_

Waylon had already passed out over the couch, half-asleep as Eddie turned back to Miles. He shrugged. “We’ll just have to figure it out.”


	13. Heist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: The hunt for Waylon's body.

“We found him, Mr. Blaire.”

“Well? Where is he?”

Jeremy kicked his feet off of the desk, glaring daggers at his employee. He’d wanted the man to walk in with Miles Upshur. He had walked in; but _not with Miles Upshur._

The man actually had the audacity to look nervous, “He was in a diner, with another man. They both fled the scene, and we lost them a few blocks down.” He said, clearly trying to keep his voice level as he succeeded only in maintaining eye-contact.

“Who was he with?”

Finally, the man perked up. “A local. Upshur referred to him as ‘Gluskin’ as they were leaving.”

The name Gluskin… Jeremy stood from his chair, slamming his palms against the desk in a fit of both frustration and anger. “What did he look like?”

“He was a caucasian male, black hair, standing at over six feet.” The man watched the expression on Jeremy’s face grow darker, darker. “Do you know him, sir?”

Jeremy took a deep breath in, straightening his back as he responded, “Yes, I do. He’s a tailor on the other end of town. I have my eveningwear made there.” He tapped his fingers against the counter, thinking. “Why were they together? Why did they run?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have that information, Mr. Blaire.”

The clock on the wall opposite Jeremy ticked on by while the two men thought the new pool of information over. Jeremy circled the perimeter of the desk, chin in-hand.

“Should we investigate Gluskin, sir?” The employee asked next.

Jeremy nodded, small. “Yes. Let them have tomorrow. We can’t risk them knowing we’re coming. At least, not yet.”

The man hummed, nodding. “How many do you want to investigate?”

“Keep it low; no more than two.” Jeremy responded, eyes flickering back to his employee. “Use force if you have to. I think there’s the potential we may have more than one suspect on our hands.”

Upshur. Gluskin. Gluskin was over six feet tall. Both men fled from the scene. Jeremy remembers sending Park to the tailor’s shop for his patchy clothing days before his murder.

Maybe Upshur wasn’t as innocent as he had been pretending to be throughout the investigation. Maybe the suspect hadn’t captured him, after all. Maybe it was _he_ who was the suspect. And he knew they were on his tail.

* * *

“This is not going to end well.”

Waylon sat on the window across the room, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. Miles and Eddie sat around the coffee table a few feet away, discussing their plan over how they were going to obtain Waylon’s body.

“As long as we conceal ourselves, but that’s only half the battle,” Miles grumbled, scratching the facial hair that had long ago spread across his chin and jaw. “We need a way in and out- and a way to get there.”

“Why can’t you take the jeep?” Waylon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He rose from his seat, plopping himself down onto the table.

Eddie shook his head, “We used the jeep to escape Murkoff’s ilk. They’re going to be looking for it everywhere, now.” He said, repeating the question over to Miles.

“I still think it’s a bad idea to keep the jeep out in the open,” The journalist shrugged. “Other tenants use this backroad, I assume. Word spreads fast when it comes to Murkoff’s lies.”

The three men sat, thinking. Eddie made a small hum; what _were_ they going to do? The risks they took continued to climb in severity, and nothing would change how difficult their final task would be.

Suddenly Eddie jumped, eyes glinting with the prospect of a plan. “I think I have an idea.”

Waylon and Miles said nothing, but they both turned to him; Waylon with curiosity, Miles with doubt.

Eddie cleared his throat, adjusting his bowtie. “I have a sixty year old Buick in the garage downstairs. It’s old, but it’s hardly touched; and it still works perfectly. I can move it outside, you can move your vehicle inside, and we’ll take the Buick to the morgue to retrieve Waylon’s body.”

Miles made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, “I assumed whatever was under that tarp was just parts, or junk,” He huffed, folding his arms over the coffee table. “How come you never use it, then?”

“It’s not exactly a good getaway car,” Eddie responded sharply, casting his gaze to the floor. He didn’t want to have to think about… that.

Waylon chuckled as Miles stood, “Whelp, it’s for a good cause I guess,” He grumbled, looking to the clock in the corner of the room. It was late at night- or early in the morning. They had come home restless, unable to sleep. “We should go tomorrow, excuse me, _tonight,_ when it’s dark again. I’m sure I can find some tools in my bag to help us get in.”

The blonde beside them allowed himself a small smile. “Maybe it won’t end as badly as I thought.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Eddie warned, pointing a finger to Waylon as he retreated into the bedroom.

Once Eddie was gone, Waylon turned to Miles. Miles was staring at him; well, less staring at him and more _through_ him. Eddie had pointed to him, so obviously Miles knew he was there, but he couldn’t see or hear or feel him. He couldn’t be sure.

Waylon sighed, approaching his best friend. Miles’ eyes didn’t trail along to follow him, though. He had mostly-likely assumed that Waylon hadn’t moved.

“Listen Waylon,” Miles started, sighing. “I know you’re there, so please just, listen for a couple of minutes? I’m going to sit on the couch, so if you want to join me, that’d be great. If not I guess I can always talk to myself; I mean that works too.”

With his words, Miles approached the couch, taking a careful seat to the left end. Waylon joined him as requested, pulling his legs up into himself all the while waiting for Miles to continue.

“Waylon, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t like Gluskin. Not one bit. He’s dangerous.”

Waylon could understand Miles’ viewpoint. He couldn’t blame him for feeling what he felt- hell, even he himself had his fears and doubts about Eddie occasionally. He wasn’t sure if everything that they’d gone through had just brought on Stockholm syndrome- but Lisa had disproven that theory.

In fact, despite all of the advances they made on each other, Waylon had been _terrified_ up until their first talk with Lisa. He’d thought he’d just had Stockholm, and that he didn’t really love Eddie. That everything was just because he was stuck in the shop and that his mind had begun rotting even past the grave until there was nothing left in it but thoughts of Eddie.

It had scared him. It really had. That’s why he’d always been cautious around the other man. Why he tried to cover everything up as humor, and fun jabs. Some of it had been. Some of it hadn’t.

Waylon tuned back in to the real world when Miles continued. “I know there’s this whole crazy psychic thing between you two and that you both think you love each other. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work, but ties or not, I don’t think it’s healthy. I know I’m going against what I said the other day.”

Miles cracked his neck, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. “Look, think what you want to think, but I heard Lisa. She said that people will marry and live entire lives without the person they’re tied to. I think- I think that’d be the best option for you, Waylon. Once this is over.

“I think you forgot that he murdered you. You had probably been scared and in pain and traumatized when it happened. But I haven’t forgotten. I don’t think I ever will.”

Waylon didn’t realize there were tears falling down his cheeks until they’d already begun. He cast a quick look to the bedroom door across the room to see if Eddie had cracked it open; but no. It was sealed shut. Unless he was listening in from the other side.

He turned back to Miles, placing his face in hands. He tried to restrain himself from shaking as his memories from that night flashed behind his eyes.

_“I had these walls sound-proofed long ago, darling. Because of sluts like you.”_

A broken nose, a black eye, a stab to the leg. Agony.

_“See what you’re making me do?”_

_“You’re not even worth it.”_

He’d almost been raped.

 _‘But he’s become so kind and caring- He wished he’d never done those things to me.’_ Oh god; it really felt like Stockholm syndrome now.

Waylon began to cry even harder as Miles stood, walking in the direction of the bathroom. “Goodnight, Waylon.”

Once the door closed Waylon collapsed against the couch, trying his damn hardest to stop the onslaught of tears, but he was far too gone to be able to control it. He was alone. _He was so very, very alone._

Waylon wasn’t sure if he heard the shower turn on down the hall, or the bedroom door opening once more- But what he did hear were small, comforting whispers in his ear as he was swept up off of the couch and into Eddie’s arms.

The older man carried him into his bedroom, closing the door with his foot before placing Waylon down over the sheets. But Waylon didn’t care; even though he felt weak for doing it, all he could do was cry, cry, cry.

“Darling, please,” Waylon finally picked up on the desperate edge that was Eddie’s voice. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

The blonde wiped at his eyes furiously, trying to prop himself up against the headboard as the tears continued to flow. He shuddered, finally taking in the man that’d brought him to bed.

“Eddie,” He sobbed, wiping at his nose, eyes, everything. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt?”

Eddie furrowed his brows, leaning over against the edge of the bed. “How much what hurt?”

“My death,” Waylon shuddered, staring down at his chest. There should be a gash there. He should be dripping, oozing, bleeding out… “How much physical pain I was in.”

Eddie said nothing. Waylon sucked in a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think. I wiped out, because it was all too much. Do you understand?”

The room fell into silence. When Waylon looked up he saw Eddie. He had shifted away from him. He had a hand over his mouth, eyes closed and he was- _was he crying?_

Waylon watched in silence as Eddie tried and failed to keep his cool enough to form a full coherent sentence. All he was able to pick out were mumbles of, “Oh god,”, “I’m so sorry,”, “I don’t deserve to live,” and “Darling…”

The blonde sniffed, crawling over the sheets towards Eddie. He plopped himself down behind the other man, wrapping his arms around his neck. Eddie froze once Waylon buried his face in his shoulder, sighing.

“I love you,” Waylon breathed, turning Eddie’s chin so he was finally looking back at him again. “But please don’t forget what happened that night. Please.”

Eddie looked to the sheets, bringing himself together piece by piece before meeting Waylon’s eyes. He took one of the specter’s hands in his own two, rubbing circles into his palm. “I won’t, darling. I won’t.”

The early morning into afternoon was the only time of day they all allowed themselves to relax. The rest of the day was spent separated from one another; at least, for the most part. Eddie was quick to gather his belongings, tossing them onto the living room couch before going down into the shop to distract himself with work. He still had an unfinished dress to attend to, after all.

Waylon had been fidgeting all day, moving in between talking to Eddie and watching him work to observing Miles’ research conducted on his laptop upstairs. It was a restless day for everyone.

Once the clock struck eleven, Eddie continued to stare out the windows of his shop just as footsteps pounded down the back stairwell. Miles appeared shortly, a stern look on his face as he nodded to the older man. Eddie nodded back, grabbing Waylon nearby before following the journalist upstairs.

They had a general plan of what they were going to do to get Waylon’s body from the morgue. They were going to conceal their identities, take the Buick instead of the Audi or Jeep, and break in. Essentially. They’d been cutting the deadline for Waylon’s cremation close- they had three days.

Waylon chuckled at the two once they’d both emerged; Eddie was still pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves as he exited the bedroom, Miles tapping his boot impatiently against the floor. Both men were dressed in dark grays and blacks.

Eddie wore a thick hoodie and a neck warmer that had been pulled up over his nose. He’d drawn up the hood to the sweatshirt, and had placed dark aviators on the bridge of his nose. He still had his dress shoes on, but his pants had changed from slacks to loose jeans.

Miles, on the other hand, wore a black leather jacket and matching gloves. He’d pulled on jeans that seemed to be a tad bit too skinny, and boots that rose high over his pants. Covering his face was a black bandana that had yet to be pulled up, cheap sunglasses with orange siding, and a dark backwards baseball cap.

“Eddie, you’re so out of character,” Waylon snickered before raising a brow to Miles. “Miles, you’re not.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but it was concealed by the aviators. Once he wiggled the second glove on, Eddie grabbed his old car keys off of the kitchen counter, “If things go well, we’ll be back around one.” He told Waylon, wringing the keys around his index finger.

“And if things go bad, then we’ll be in jail!” Said Miles through fake-cheerfulness, putting on an even faker grin as he began waltzing out the door.

Once the pounding of the steps began, Eddie huffed, pulling his mask down enough to place a kiss atop Waylon’s forehead. “We _will_ be back around one.”

“Have fun, stay safe, wear protection, yada-yada,” Waylon blabbed, pushing Eddie’s shoulder as the other man headed for the door. “Just don’t get yourselves killed.”

They were the only car on the road that night. It gave Eddie and Miles both an unsettling feeling as Eddie drove them to the morgue, Miles giving directions.

“I know it might be a bit early to say this,” Miles mumbled beside him, staring out the window and at the unlit park passing by. “But I think something’s definitely wrong. You’d think we would’ve seen at least one other person on the road by now.”

“Leadville is a small town,” Said Eddie, turning onto a smaller, dirtier backroad. “And we’re avoiding the downtown district. It would make sense in this instance.”

Miles leaned back into his seat, clearly agitated as he cast Eddie a dark glare. “Is that how you got away with all those murders?”

Eddie gripped the steering wheel harder, breathing through his nose. “I do what it takes to survive.”

“Like killing my best friend?”

Eddie hit the brakes, slamming the car to a halt.

Miles’ face immediately twisted in fear as Eddie unbuckled his seatbelt, “Oh god, don’t kill me you fucker,” He pleaded through gritted teeth, lowering his arms only an inch once he noticed Eddie had stepped out of the car.

“Grab your equipment,” The older man hissed, tossing the backpack in the backseat into Miles’ lap. “We’re here.”

Sure enough, once Miles stepped out of the car, he was indeed back at the morgue he’d visited to ‘talk’ to Waylon after they’d found his body on the side of the road. The journalist tried to shake the thought off as he slung his bag over his shoulder, following the other man through brush.

Well- they weren’t right on top of the morgue, exactly. Eddie had moved the Buick into a small opening in between a thicket of bushes, grass and trees. Once they walked a good enough distance away, Miles could barely detect the car through it all.

He turned around once they were standing at the back entrance of the building. Miles’ eyes locked onto a steel door, and he immediately began sneaking his way towards it. It wasn’t like there was anyone around, but it was better to be seen by security camera as little as possible.

“Shit,” Miles cursed once he reached the lock. Or more correctly, _locks._ There were two locks- one being a key hold that Miles could pick with enough effort put in, while the other required a keycard.

Eddie approached, placing a hand on the wall beside Miles. “Can you get in?”

Miles pointed to the key card slot, “Not without having to break the slot. And that might trigger a silent alarm, which is significantly worse than a live one inside the building.”

When Eddie began pacing, Miles shrugged. “Do _you_ want to try it? I can always try to come up with something else in the meantime.”

So, he did try. He tried as Miles walked off, observing the back of the building for a different angle of entry. 

He noticed the large window a couple yards away first. Miles jogged over to it, running two fingers down the bolted-in frame. He placed his hands over the glass next, trying to figure out what type of glass it was. Suddenly, an awful, shitty plan formed in his mind as he stepped back, observing the ground around them.

“Hey,” Miles called over towards where Eddie was still trying to figure out the lock. He pointed to the window. “Over here.”

Miles searched the grassy dirt beneath their feet as Eddie looked through the window into the dark halls, squinting. He turned to watch Miles pick up a large rock in his hands, shoulders shaking. “How are we going to get in?”

As soon as the question was asked, Miles approached the window, tossing the rock into the glass where it shattered, landing inside the morgue. Almost instantly sirens and alarms blared inside, lighting up the halls with a thick red hue.

Eddie glared daggers at Miles as the other man rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, observing a watch tied to his wrist. “So yeah, I’d say we have about five minutes to get in and out before the cops arrive.”

The older man instantly picked Miles up, the journalist kicking and yelling as Eddie grunted through the additional weight, “Good,” He heaved, tossing the other man into the building. He followed suit, yanking himself up over the threshold. “Then _you_ lead.”

Miles didn’t hesitate to follow orders. He knew where Waylon’s body was being held, anyway. The two ran as fast as they could through the passageway they’d entered through, nearly slipping in their step as Miles located the room they were looking for.

“Here!” Miles called out, skidding to a halt against the tile floor. He jingled the knob to the door; of course, locked.

Then again, breaking locks didn’t matter as significantly as they had minutes before. Eddie was quick to slam his elbow down onto the knob, snapping the metal handle off of its hinge before kicking the door wide open. “Hurry- our time is running out.”

Both men raced into the room. Eddie slammed the door shut behind them as Miles searched the tags that had been taped to the many handles lining the walls. 

Eddie tried to help in his search, but Miles located the correct bed first. The tag had Waylon’s full name etched onto it; they finally had their body within reach.

“Oh god,” Miles whispered to himself as he took hold of the handle, gently pulling the metal bed out of its containment. All Miles had to see was a pair of feet before he was done, backing away from the wall.

Eddie approached once he’d seen Miles locate Waylon’s facility, trying not to let the feet and ankles faze him as he yanked the bed out the rest of the way. Most of the body had been covered with a white cloth, anyway; they didn’t have to look. Not yet.

It was only the fact that they were nearly out of time that gave Eddie the willpower to pull the sheet off of the dead body they’d retrieved. Dull blonde hair fluffed around sickeningly pale cheeks as the cover was removed, and this time, Eddie had to look away.

Miles finally approached once more, observing what had become of the real-life Waylon. A huge gash split the man’s chest open, and another smaller yet similar mark ran down the dead man’s shin. He still had a dark mark around his eye, lips cracked and parted.

The journalist clenched his jaw, taking another step away. “You did this.”

Eddie tried, oh how hard he tried to keep his calm as he ran a hand down Waylon’s face, his fingers trembling as if he’d caught frostbite. In one swift motion the tailor lugged Waylon’s body up, tossing it over his shoulder.

The alarms and lights were just dull noise and colors at that point as Eddie turned to Miles, making sure he had a secure grip over Waylon. “We need to go- Now. They’ll know we’re here.”

As the two traced their steps back down the hall, another ring of sirens could be heard outside of the building. But that didn’t stop them. It didn’t stop them one single bit as they picked up the pace, making it to the broken window from before. 

Miles hopped out first, offering assistance and making sure Waylon’s body didn’t sustain any more damage than it had weeks and weeks before as they got it outside and into the cool night air. Blue, red and white lights became visible the second Eddie threw himself outside, and they bolted.

_“YOU! STOP!”_

Neither man dared to look over their shoulder, much less stop at the authoritative voice a few yards away. No. They kept running, running as fast as they possibly could through all of the dead brush and trees until the Buick came into view.

“I’ll start the engine and drive; you get Waylon in the back and be ready to leap for the passenger door!” Miles panted as they pushed past the last of the bushes.

Miles more or less slammed the key into the engine as Eddie threw the back door open, making sure Waylon was in a stable enough position as he hopped down into the opposite seat to Miles. He barely had the door closed before the journalist slammed on the gas, reversing the car.

The lights and sirens were even more prominent now that they were both in the safety of the car. Miles growled out as he swerved the left, maneuvering into drive just as more policemen made themselves present behind the exhaust.

“This is fucking crazy,” Miles wheezed as he threw them onto the dirt road, driving sixty on a thirty-mile road. “This is really, really fucking crazy. I mean it this time.”

Eddie pulled off his aviators, tossing them into the cup holder in between them. “It’s almost over. We just need to get Lisa back again.”

“And what the hell happens after that, exactly?” Miles asked, panting.

“I don’t know.”


	14. Resurrect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa comes back to help them with one final step.

_How does it feel? Bones snapping, arms breaking; you’re going to die._

_No, not you._

_You._

They thought they were safe.

The Buick had been parked perpendicular to the shop, both men working together in order to push it far enough through the bushes that it wouldn’t be seen unless another car came down the road. From the other end of the street, it was undetectable.

But they soon discovered that it didn’t even matter.

There was a car parked beside the sidewalk of the shop, and the front door was open.

“Take the sunglasses and mask off,” Eddie whispered, approaching the back door with Waylon’s body in tow. He had already taken his own concealment off. “Leave them in the car.”

Eddie unlocked the back door carefully, making sure he didn’t let a single sound escape as he stepped into the garage. Miles followed in a similar manner, lightening his steps so that they wouldn’t clank against the concrete floor.

“It’s Murkoff. Not the police.”

“How does that make this better?” Eddie hissed, nudging the workroom door open as gently as he could manage. Once inside, he placed Waylon’s body over the table.

Miles brushed his hair back from his eyes; he’d taken his ponytail out during the car ride back, the strain that had been pulling against the back of his head increasing tenfold during their rush to get home. He grunted, staying low. “It doesn’t. It makes this worse.”

“Why are they here?”

“You didn’t hide yourself when we went to that diner. They can find anyone they damn please with a face to go off of.”

The two stood in the workroom, falling silent. As soon as Miles confirmed they were alone, he felt a small pang in his chest. “Wait- Waylon. Where is he?”

“It’s alright,” Eddie sighed, pressing an ear against the next door over. “They can’t see him. He’s fine.”

“But don’t you think he would’ve tried to warn us while we were coming in?”

Eddie pressed his lips together. That did seem like something the specter would’ve done…

The tailor brushed it off instead, “Either or, he should be fine. There’s no way they’d be able to get to him.” Eddie explained, raising a brow. “I can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. Do you believe they’d have guns?”

Miles threw his hat onto the work table, “It’s Murkoff. Of course they do.” He quipped, beginning to mumble a series of curses under his breath as Eddie grasped the door handle.

“Oh, fuck.”

Eddie turned to Miles, watching the man as he yanked at his thick, dark brown locks. The younger man had a horrified look on his face as he stared between Eddie and the door. It was a look saying he knew something Eddie didn’t.

“What?”

“I know why they’re here,” Miles whispered, pacing back and forth as he repeated the statement over and over. “I know why, I know why, I know why…”

Eddie tapped a shoe against the floor, fingers tightening against the handle. “Stop mumbling. We already established why they’re here; they saw me at the diner.”

Miles shook his head, “No, it’s not just that. Oh god, it makes sense.” He finally stopped moving, staring Eddie dead in the eye. “They know. They figured it out. Oh god, why hadn’t I put the pieces together earlier when it’d been so obvious? _How didn’t I-”_

“Spit it out!” Eddie hissed, trying to make as little noise as possible all the while yelling at the other man.

“They know,” Miles growled. “They know you killed Waylon.”

Eddie knew all of the color had drained from his face in that moment. He didn’t need a mirror to check.

 _“How would they know.”_ A demand. Not a question.

“Eddie Gluskin. Six-foot four. We found you on the local security cameras last week. Not you per-say, but we knew the type of guy we had to start looking for. And I had almost forgot- Waylon had asked me for clothes he could borrow for his work party. All of mine were dirty. He had told me Jeremy Blaire had directed him someone who could fix his.

“That was why he was here, wasn’t it? Blaire must’ve sent him. That’s the only reason he would’ve come.”

The footsteps grew louder, but Eddie was hardly paying attention as he released the handle.

“Jeremy Blaire sent him here. He figured it out; those guys, they _saw you,_ and you _ran._ They had to have told Blaire. He figured it out.”

Eddie was frozen in place. Nothing mattered in that moment; it was as if everything that’d happened within the course of the last two months had finally come crashing down, and he finally understood what he’d done.

“’Eddie Gluskin murdered Waylon Park’.”

He had. He’d killed Waylon Park. Waylon was dead. Eddie cast his gaze to the table where the evidence of his work laid clear as day.

The door opened.

Eddie wasn’t sure what had caused the sudden surge of emotions through him, but none of them were positive. Anger, hurt, betrayal, fear, rage, misery- They were all there, all present and accounted for.

_‘You’re a serial killer.’_

Eddie let go a loud, angry roar as the door opened behind him. He didn’t even catch a glimpse of the person on the other side as he thrusted his elbow backwards, slamming the door into the person that’d opened it.

A scream, a small click. Eddie tuned everything out as he slammed the door a second time with his hands, the material cracking and splintering as it was thrown against the wall. Everything felt as though it’d been brought down to slow motion, pictures making their way through the tailor’s eyes frame by frame.

The shop itself was dark and unlit, but a bright flash erupted, lighting up the night for less than a second before things were bathed in darkness again. Eddie grabbed the nearest man by the shoulders, slamming him against the wall. Eddie was much larger than the man in his grasp; and he looked _horrified._

Just as he threw the man head-first into the wall, another burst of light brought the room to life. Eddie ran from the now-unconscious man, tossing himself over the front desk before taking the other by the neck.

A flash, a grunt, a scream, then another unconscious body against the floor.

“Holy fuck!” Miles screamed as he exited the workroom, finding the two bloodied and bruised against the floor. “Are they dead-? _Oh my god.”_

No, they weren’t dead. Eddie had made sure they weren’t dead. Even though he had allowed his rage to get the best of him, he didn’t want to kill anyone. He _couldn’t_ kill anyone; not anymore. It had to stop.

Eddie looked down to his hands. There were several drops of blood splattered against the floor, and they were still falling at a steady pace. He yanked his glove off to find the same liquid streaming down his arm and his hands, flowing freely over his fingertips.

Once Eddie really took the time to observe the room and himself, he found where the damage had been done. There was a hole in the wall beside the workroom where Miles stood. There were two other holes that had bit through his hoodie; one in his forearm, the other in his upper thigh.

“We need to get upstairs, now.” Said Eddie, and as his adrenaline died down, he found himself limping into the workroom for Waylon’s body.

“Woah man,” Miles breathed, following him into the room. “What are we going to do about these guys?”

Eddie hauled Waylon’s body up and over his shoulder, headed for the staircase, “We’ll deal with them later. They’re not going to wake up for another couple of hours,” He explained, trying to keep a straight face as he walked up the stairs even with the bullet in his leg.

Once they were in the living room, both men began to shed their layers as Eddie called out. “Darling? Waylon?! Where are you…?”

Eddie stopped his shedding, taking the time to search the household for his darling. He found him moments later, curled up in a ball behind the furthest end of the couch. “Darling? Darling!”

Waylon stared straight ahead even as Eddie tilted his head up; he was completely motionless. He wasn’t even breathing. What was going on?

“Oh no,” Eddie cursed, storming over to the kitchen counter. He searched his silverware drawer, pulling out a long pair of tweezers from the back end of the drawer. “Upshur, draw the symbol on the floor, and get Waylon’s body and the blood lined up. He’s not responding to me.”

Miles made a small gagging noise across the room, but nonetheless complied as he dragged Waylon body and the blood, grabbing the packet of chalk off of the counter.

By the time Miles was done, Eddie was already pulling the second bullet that’d hit him out of his leg with the tweezers. He had rolled his pant leg up, shirt discarded long before. He winced as the tweezers finally grabbed hold of the metal, and he soon stared back at the bullet that had been lodged inside of him moments before.

“Disgusting,” Said Miles as he watched, turning back to the mark moments later. He had already cut the tip of his finger open, allowing blood to drip down over the chalk. “Mind donating some of that blood?”

Eddie slid off of the couch and onto the floor opposite where Miles sat, pressing two fingers beside the emptied hole in his arm. More blood than what was necessary dripped down onto the mark; Eddie was quick to grab the first aid kit they’d received two days before, rolling up his injuries with as little gauze as he could manage. He could treat his wounds neatly at a later time.

They sat in silence, resting, waiting. When nothing happened after a full minute of waiting, Miles groaned, hunching over. “Ugh, don’t tell me we have to fall asleep again or something. Doesn’t she know we don’t have a hell of a lot of time left?”

A blinding light flashed throughout the room; then, a silhouette.

“Yes, Miles Upshur. I’m well aware.”

Both men jumped at the sight of Lisa, who stood completely opaque in the center of the room. She opened her eyes to the two as soon as she stepped away from the mark, her white dress flowing gracefully along with her. “It appears you got what I’d asked.”

Miles opened his mouth, closing it just as quickly. He was at a loss for words. “Are… Are you actually here?”

“You’re the only ones that can see me,” She explained, pointing to the other end of the couch. “And now you can see Waylon Park too, Mr. Upshur.”

Eddie ignored Miles as he rushed to the other end of the couch, spotting Waylon. He tuned out the persistent pleas trying to get Waylon to respond as Eddie asked the bigger question. “What is this? There can’t be anymore secrets now that this is almost over. You need to tell me what will happen to him.”

The question earned Miles’ interest, dragging him away from his friend as he glared at Lisa almost as hard as Eddie was.

Lisa sighed, folding her hands together. “You two are going to need to locate all of Waylon Park’s open wounds- _All_ of them. Then, take the supplies you collected for first-aid and seal them up as tight as you can.”

Miles was already headed towards the kit while Eddie remained, confused. “Why?”

“He was stabbed, bruised and beaten preceding his death. Once I get his blood flowing again, all of the wounds are going to activate. He could bleed out within the first few minutes of life if he doesn’t have something covering them up. But he’ll need a hospital, too.”

“Oh that’ll be fun,” Miles laughed darkly as he began opening the kit. “’Hey guys, I know this man was dead a couple months ago, but he ain’t anymore! So if you can help him avoid death for the second time in a year, that’d be great.’”

Lisa visibly cringed, but the look on her face- Eddie knew it wasn’t because of Miles’ comment. She stared down at the floor, her expression almost painful to look at. Both Miles and Eddie caught it; and they were thinking the same thing.

“…There’s something else, isn’t there?”

Both men stood watching as Lisa’s expression didn’t lighten. In fact, she seemed to become even sadder, closing in on herself. 

She nodded after another couple of seconds of nothing, “Upshur will have to bring Park to the hospital; you can’t risk bringing him yourself, Gluskin.” She said, letting out a much longer sigh than before. “Once Park is back in his body, he’s going to need to go to the hospital. Right away. There’s a large chance he won’t make it once he’s back.”

“Then what’s the point of any of this?” Miles hissed.

“If he dies like this, the reason will be detached from Gluskin.” She gave Eddie a sympathetic look. “He won’t be attached to this shop anymore. He’ll be free.”

Miles grunted, already beginning to wrap up Waylon’s leg. Eddie finally decided to help him out, taking his place on the floor nearby. Miles seemed almost hopeful as he continued. “So basically, if I can get him help before we run out of time, everything will go back to the way it was?”

“No. You three won’t have any memories of this incident after that. No one will.”

They froze.

“…What?”

“Park will lose all of his memories of being a ghost, Gluskin; everything that happened correlating with his death, as soon as he’s back in his body. You two will lose your memories once you fall asleep. Everyone else who had memories of these events will be wiped as soon as Park is back in his body. When things like this happen to the dead, it’s the same instance of when mass hysteria takes place. It’s why it happens.”

Miles was dumbstruck. “But you said you’ve only seen this a handful of times? Mass hysteria has been documented for centuries.”

“This isn’t always the case. Many other things can happen besides a broken link.”

“So,” Eddie barely managed through the dryness in his throat. “I won’t remember Waylon… And he won’t remember me?”

Lisa nodded. “You won’t remember each other once this is over. Upshur and Park will, because they’ve known each other long before this incident. You met both Upshur and Park during it.”

Miles and Eddie worked in silence after that, but Eddie could hardly breathe. He knew deep down Miles was ecstatic over their separation; but he also knew Miles wanted him to be taken in, too. That wouldn’t happen with everyone’s memories of the murder wiping out.

Once they finished fixing Waylon’s body as well as they could manage, Lisa looked him over, seemingly satisfied with their work. “You can take the time to gather your bearings, if you’d like.”

They agreed. Miles decided to do the deed and drag the men downstairs out to their car. They were getting wiped too, so when they woke up, they’d only be confused as to where they were before driving off and out of their life.

Miles also wanted time to clear his mind. He searched both men for their car keys, turning on the engine once he’d finished pulling them into the back. He wanted to drive a few blocks down, creating enough distance so that they wouldn’t have any sense to come back to the shop.

As for Eddie, he tried with Waylon again. And he already knew what he wanted to do with his spare time.

“Waylon,” He asked gently, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind the specter’s ear. “Darling, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Waylon’s eyes flickered, just slightly, so that Eddie was given enough of an answer. The older man let a finger sweep down Waylon’s cheek as he asked, “Could you create one last celandine for me? Please?”

The blonde’s eyes trailed down to his hands, which were still resting in between his legs and chest. Slowly, he allowed a small light to escape, and a half-wilted celandine was placed into Eddie’s palm.

“Thank you, darling.” He whispered, placing a kiss to Waylon’s lips before he stood, an iron from the nearby closet in one hand, the celandine in the other.

By the time Miles returned, Eddie had already finished his task. He’d pressed the celandine against a small slip of paper, pulling two strips of scotch tape over both the paper and the flower as a makeshift laminate. He’d slipped it into the back pocket of the pants that they’d covered Waylon’s body with just as Miles walked through the door, looking even more tired and worn-out than ever.

“Alright,” Said Miles, his voice hollow. “Let’s do this.”

Eddie had managed to bring Waylon over to his body, setting him down on the floor beside the three of them.

“He needs to lie down inside of his body,” Lisa whispered.

Eddie sighed, placing a kiss to Waylon’s forehead before laying him down parallel to his body. They could still see the glow and transparency of the specter through everything covering him; it was almost like he was sleeping through a hologram.

Lisa placed two fingers to the body’s forehead. The transparency at the top of his head disappeared.

Slowly, Lisa dragged her fingers down Waylon’s face, chest, and abdomen. Piece by piece Waylon’s transparency was fading, fast, as if the two figures were fusing together. As far as Eddie and Miles knew, they were.

Once Lisa reached his legs, she added her second hand, using four fingers to merge him together.

“I love you,” Eddie whispered as the last of Waylon was brought together; then there was nothing left but the body itself.

Next was the blood. Lisa raised a hand towards the blood packets, clenching her fist together. The packets burst collectively, but the blood inside of them didn’t spray. It remained in place as Lisa rolled up Waylon’s pant leg, revealing where the large gash of his shin had been pasted over.

Lisa unraveled the gauze, flicking her hand back towards the blood. She made quick work of forcing the liquid into the opening; it felt like forever until it was all gone, and she taped the gauze back up.

Eddie’s eyes trailed her hands as she placed them over Waylon’s chest. She looked between Miles and Eddie, eyes wide. “As soon as I do this, everyone will lose their memories. Both of you will lose yours once you fall asleep. …Are you ready?”

They had long since passed the point of no return. Eddie and Miles nodded in sync with one another as Lisa pressed her hands further into Waylon’s chest.

The body jerked, and soon enough, the two began to see marks forming over the visible gauze.

“Thank you. And good luck.” Lisa whispered, and just like that, she was whisked away like she’d never been there at all.

Eddie and Miles both shared the same look. Then, they jumped up; Miles to Waylon’s body, and Eddie to the garage.

Neither knew, or even cared that the last time they’d ever see Lisa was as she disappeared from the living room. No, they didn’t care.

Because they had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am both sorry and absolutely not sorry at the same time.


	15. Celandines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to them?

_‘I’m guilty. I’m a guilty man._

_Miles Upshur was completely right. I should be punished for the atrocities I’ve committed. I should be sent to prison, or executed, or- something bad should happen to me._

_But the world doesn’t work like that. Not everyone can live happily ever after, and certainly no one can ever truly be happy. The world is a cruel place; and I just happen to be a part of it._

_You see, things can’t always work out how people want them to. Such as how I wanted Miles Upshur dead. Or how Miles Upshur wanted me to be imprisoned. Or how Waylon Park never wanted to die. Or how Jeremy Blaire lost a software engineer. Things don’t work out. They never will._

_It might sound bitter, but it’s true. And as many have learned, I’m all about bitterness._

_Similarly, people can’t always have what they want. I know this better than anyone. Sluts, whores, all of them. It doesn’t matter. I was never satisfied._

_Take Waylon, for example. I had just gone by the words of my father all of my life, thinking they were right. Well, now I know they weren’t right. Nothing that man ever did was right. And Waylon, as I’m using, paid the price for my mistake._

_But even after everything was already said and done, I still wanted him. I still want him even now. It’s like a hole has been opened up in my chest, slowly killing me. If it wasn’t for Waylon’s sake, I would’ve wanted that disease Lisa had spoken of to kill me._

_I can feel myself growing tired. But I’m not done- not yet._

_It was four hours ago, but I’m still looking out the damn window. I’d helped Upshur get Waylon into the car, and I’d watched them race off where I’m sitting now. …Waylon had used to sit in this window chair a lot, too._

_It’s probably useless to think about him now. I’m not even going to remember him when I wake up._

_I will say that watching Waylon come to life wasn’t a breath of relief. It wasn’t a happy moment. It had been terrifying. He’d been unconscious, and by the time I closed the back door to Upshur’s Jeep, the gauze was already soaking._

_Waylon had been breathing, but barely. His life was placed into Upshur’s hands; and god, how much I wished it could’ve been me. But I was shot. I had been hurt._

_I’d used the rest of what we had left to clean myself up after that. I took a shower, wrapped myself up in more gauze, and waited by the window even though waiting was pointless. It’s all over now._

_Even though Lisa had been unsure, I’m certain my darling will make it. He’s a stubborn man, after all. More stubborn than I wished he’d be, even. I’m sure he’ll make a full recovery, and go on to be as neat and cheerful as he’d been the day I met him._

_It’s better this way._

_I’m too tired to stay awake any longer. Maybe I’ll just sleep here; although I’m sure my future self is going to wonder why I choose to sleep on the windowsill._

_I don’t believe I’ll forget what I’ve learned from Waylon. Lisa wouldn’t just allow the past to repeat itself again. I might not remember him, but I believe I’ll remember what he’d told me. Taught me, rather. That’s all I could ask for._

_We’ll all move on somehow. Without knowing each other, things couldn’t possibly be that bad. I survived for years before Waylon showed up. I don’t know how, but I did._

_Maybe I can do it again._

* * *

Miles felt his eyelids drooping, but he refused to sleep. Not yet.

He watched Waylon resting on the hospital bed beside him; he’d pulled up a chair as soon as the nurse had called him in, telling him they were done with the operation. She had seemed pretty disoriented when he’d dragged them both inside, but she’d told him she was doing just fine.

He didn’t believe her. At least, not really.

A heart monitor beeped quietly in the corner. It seemed that the longer Miles tried to stay awake, the more the machine sounded like a soft lullaby pushing him closer towards rest. He tried so hard to keep his eyes open for Waylon. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could do it forever.

Miles had been awake throughout the night during Waylon’s operation, and the entire day following. Waylon needed him. And he was going to be there.

He almost wanted to visit Gluskin, too; the man had to have gone to sleep by now. Miles wasn’t even sure how he was staying awake himself.

He just wanted to see what the evil man he’d known had turned into. How disorienting it would be to walk into his shop and be greeted as if he was a normal paying customer and not some journalist that he’d committed a crime with.

When taking Waylon to the hospital, Miles had dragged them both out of the car, tying down the gas pedal. It had ended up slamming into a tree on the side of the road, a good enough cover, apparently. Miles had untied it as quickly as he possibly could; the blood in the backseat was enough to convince people that the story he’d come up with was true. Waylon had been carried the rest of the way.

Miles looked at the clock. One-fifteen. He couldn’t do it.

He fell asleep.

* * *

“You were involved in a car crash. Do you remember anything?”

Miles blinked, furrowing his brows. He stared hard at the woman standing across the counter, trying to figure out whether she was lying or not.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well,” Said the nurse, looking through her set of files until she found the correct paper. “You’d come in with Mr. Waylon Park after having hit a tree. You sustained a few bumps and scrapes, but Mr. Park had to be taken in for surgery.”

Miles looked around the room, then back at the woman. He groaned, lowering his head into his hands. “I don’t remember a single goddamn thing…”

The woman pursed her lips. “Perhaps we should have you checked out. You may have sustained minor memory loss from the crash.”

“Yeah,” Miles grumbled, taking a step back from the counter. “Yeah, that’d probably be for the best.”

The entire month following the accident had been hell.

“Oh, my sweet baby boy!” Mrs. Park cried out, tears falling down her cheeks in rivers as she burst into the hospital room. Waylon had woken up a week and a half following his surgery.

“Mom, please, no hugging,” Waylon wheezed, gently patting his mother’s arms as she wrapped herself around him.

“Oh honey,” The woman cried, wiping the tears from her eyes as she got a good look at her son’s face. “The doctors told us everything, and we tried to get here as soon as possible! There’s been so much going on, everyone in and around this town has been in hysterics! The calendar’s all wrong, people are panicking and just, ah, I’m so glad you’re okay!”

Waylon smiled, folding his hands over his lap. “Me too, mum. Miles saved me.”

His mother laughed through her tears, “Yes, we heard.” She said, laughing even harder. “You have a good friend, Waylon. Definitely one you should keep around.”

Later in the day, Miles returned.

“Oh, this game isn’t even fair.” Waylon huffed, sliding the moving table away from his bed. Miles only laughed as the blonde’s frown deepened. “Spit is a game of speed and agility. I don’t want to tear my stitches, and you turned down go-fish.”

Miles cackled as he swept up the discarded pile of cards. “That’s because go-fish is for weenies.”

Waylon squeezed his eyes shut, laughing along with his friend. He put a little too much pressure onto his damaged eye, and he winced, fingers gracing the bruise.

Miles noticed. He paused his clean-up momentarily, lips pursing. “Your eye doing okay?”

“Yeah, just a little numb.” Said Waylon, shaking his head. “How the hell did I get a black eye from a car crash, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Miles huffed, shoving the deck of cards back into its box. “Maybe you smacked your face into something?”

Waylon hummed. “Maybe. Where had we been going that night, anyway? It’s convenient we were near a hospital.”

The journalist shrugged, plopping back down into his chair. “I remember as much from that night as you do, man. It’s weird. It’s almost like no one can remember anything. Maybe it’s something I can investigate.”

Waylon snorted.

“Doubting my abilities, are ya?” Miles croaked through an impression of a sixty year-old man, leaning over in his chair. “I can solve _anything.”_

“Uh-huh, sure,” Waylon chuckled.

Miles rolled his eyes. “Come on now; don’t make me have to tickle you. I want your stitches staying where they belong as much as you do, man.”

“Well, I’m not your child.” Waylon laughed. Yet as he continued to laugh, he thought his words over, and the smile slowly began to fade into a frown.

Miles frowned along with him. “What is it?”

“Nothing…” Waylon mumbled, leaning back in the bed. “Just, something feels weird.”

“Should I get the nurse?”

“No, not like that,” Waylon pondered, clicking his tongue. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

“If you say so, pally.”

A month following, Waylon was finally cleared from the hospital. Miles had offered to drive him home, since Waylon couldn’t be trusted by himself after just being released. He didn’t even trust himself driving. 

Waylon shivered, turning up the heat in the car. It was dark out, and holiday lights passed by outside the window as Miles drove on. They had a little under a month until the holidays _really_ kicked in, and Waylon had spent a month cooped up in the hospital. He had a lot of Christmas shopping to catch up on.

“Y’know,” Waylon mumbled, pulling his scarf further up his face. “The last time you drove us somewhere, you crashed the car.”

Miles cringed, easing his foot off of the gas. “That’s not funny. You almost died.”

Waylon shrugged, choosing to stare down at his lap where a small pile of clothes rested. Miles’ eyes flickered to where the blonde had brought his attention to for only a second before he turned back to the road. “Why did you want to keep those, anyway? I can still see the stains.”

The blonde stared down at the clothes, puzzled with his own decision. He didn’t even know why he chose to keep them. “I dunno. A souvenir, I guess.”

“And like I already told you, that wasn’t funny.”

Waylon shrugged. “I think the more important question would be why I was wearing your clothes in the first place.”

Miles allowed a sigh to escape his lips as he answered. “I told you Waylon, I have no idea what happened.”

“Did we have tension that night or something?”

“Waylon, that’s gross.”

“I mean, it’s not _completely_ out of the question.”

_“Waylon.”_

Waylon chuckled, turning his gaze back to the window. “Well, we don’t know, man.”

“Waylon, do you find me attractive? As in, you want a piece of this?” Miles gestured to himself, pulling off a sloppy grin made to look as unattractive as the brunette could manage.

“…No.”

“That’s what I thought. Now shut your mouth and let me drive.”

Sixth Street was cold and desolate as Miles pulled onto it. He glanced around at the mostly-barren apartments as he pulled into the parking lot beside Waylon’s home, turning off the engine as soon as he was parked. “You need some help getting up the stairs?”

He did. It took a couple of minutes, but once they were inside of Waylon’s home, the two looked around. Things seemed… Eerie. They both shared the thought, but neither could figure out exactly _why._

“You sure you’re cool with sleeping alone tonight? I can always crash on the couch if you want,” Miles asked as he pocketed his keys, taking another good look around the room. Still eerie.

Waylon shook his head, “I think I’ll be fine.” He moved from the living room down the hall, tossing his things onto the other end of his bed. He walked back into the living room shortly after, rubbing his eyes. “I’m really tired, anyway. I’ll text you in the morning.”

“Alright,” Miles agreed, starting for the door. “Sleep tight, lil’ Waylon.”

“You know what, _never_ talk to me again. I’m a thirty-two year old sasquatch.”

Miles laughed, slamming the door shut behind him.

Then Waylon was left all alone once more.

He started walking around his house, the strange feeling from before still ever-present. He looked into his fridge for something he could eat- something soothing. Surprisingly, the inside was completely barren. He pondered why it would be as he closed the door, heading back into his bedroom.

The sheets were mused, which was another oddity. Waylon was such a perfectionist about his house that he _always_ made his bed in the morning. So many things about the house seemed odd, but at the same time, everything was so normal.

Waylon tried not to think too hard about it as he plopped down onto the far-too comfy sheets, letting out a long sigh of relief as his recovering leg praised the lowering of pressure against it.

When Waylon woke up the next morning, he felt a combination of refreshment and sleepiness. He hadn’t taken a regular, proper shower since before his stay at the hospital, and he knew he was already beginning to smell weird again.

So that’s what he jumped to first. The water felt so nice, so refreshing as he allowed shampoo to sop up and run down the locks of hair atop his head.

Once he got out, he pulled on a pair of boxers before heading back into his bedroom. He rummaged through his drawers, searching for a neat pair of clothes before casting his gaze back to the bed where Miles’ own clothes still sat on the opposite end of the sheets.

Waylon approached them, thinking. Maybe Miles had been right. Maybe he _should_ just toss them. When he looked hard enough, he could still see the blood stains, too.

He didn’t want to think it over any longer. Waylon scooped the clothing items up into his arms, tossing them into the garbage bin at the other end of the room.

After a little more rummaging Waylon managed to find a dorky red t-shirt that read, ‘Oswald the Lucky Rabbit’ over the front with an image of said cartoon rabbit. He snorted to himself as he pulled it over his head, yanking a pair of black skinny jeans into the mix as well.

The doorbell rang.

Waylon raised a brow, pulling a soft yellow sweatshirt off of his desk chair as well as he headed out into the hall towards the front door. The doorbell rang again, forcing him to walk faster to greet whoever it was on the opposite end of wall.

Once he opened the door, a cheerful female face greeted him. “Waylon!”

“Oh, hi Mrs. Thompson!” Waylon greeted, barely having a chance to shake his landlady’s hand before she pulled him into a near bone-crushing hug.

“Good to see you still kicking!” The woman laughed, finally releasing the air-deprived blonde from her strong arms. “How ya feeling?”

Waylon shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Strange, I guess. A lot of things have felt… Weird, since coming back.”

The woman nodded. “Well, I just wanted to drop by before my errands and make sure you were doing okay. Have a nice day now!”

He waved his goodbyes as the woman began her decent down the apartment stairwell. He closed the door, letting out a long sigh before moving back into his bedroom.

Just as he passed by his bed, Waylon felt his bare feet step on a slick piece of paper. Garbage?

Waylon paused, raising his foot to stare at the paper in question. It was a small slip of laminate with a… a flower?

The blonde stared, confused. Where the hell had it come from?

He picked the slip up off of the ground, inspecting the flower that had clearly been pressed inside. The flower seemed almost half-wilted, but flecks of yellow were still prominent enough that it was more beauty than ugly. Waylon hummed, inspecting the flower once more before flipping the paper over.

On the back was writing. _Writing._ Waylon became all the more confused as he squinted at the sleek cursive text, written in blue pen.

_‘I’m sorry I never wore a flannel. -196 Newton Street, Leadville CO.’_

Waylon plopped down onto his bed, reading the note over and over again. What did it mean? He didn’t recognize the address, and he had _no clue_ what this mystery person meant by the little note that’d been written above said address.

Waylon glared at the trash bin where the paper had been sitting beside. The pocket of Miles’ pants was pushed out, explaining why the note was on the floor. But why had it been in his pocket?

There were many things that had happened that night that had never been fully explained. Many things had been left to be interpreted as a complete mystery.

Why had he been wearing Miles’ clothes? Why had Miles been driving yet sustained no injuries, while Waylon had been in the back and had almost been killed? Why had he been in the back seat in the first place? How come no one could remember anything?

Now there was another question to be added to the list. Why was there a strange note in his back pocket?

The logical thing to do would be to go investigate the address himself. And he would; once he trusted himself enough to drive again. Waylon grasped the paper tighter and tighter in his hand, falling back onto his bed as he set his plan.

Oh, and he hadn’t texted Miles. Great. He knew his phone would be blowing up as soon as he checked it.

* * *

A blizzard was coming, Waylon knew, as he drove down the snow-covered roads. Miles had already made him drive back and forth to Cruiser’s days before. He hadn’t told Miles about the note. He’d been growing impatient, and decided to look up the address on Map Quest that morning.

As he drove, a small ‘Newton Street’ sign popped up beside the car window. Waylon licked his lips in anticipation as he pulled his car down the road, parking in a spot barely visible on the ground through all of the snow covering it. He was one of few cars visible in general.

Waylon pulled the keys to the engine, staring at the shop in front of him. From the sign it looked like an ordinary tailoring shop. Why had the address been written to this exact location? Was this the right place?

He stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him.

Waylon supposed it didn’t matter until he went in.

* * *

Eddie sat at the chair behind the counter, continuing to eye the wedding dress across the room. He had his chin in-hand as he continued to stare, eyes full of wonder.

The dress was alien, to say the least. He’d only touched it once over the course of the month, but still, it concerned him. It was strange.

After waking up in such a mystifying daze, he’d entered the main floor of his business to find it standing on a mannequin across the room. It had baffled him, really; he’d gone through all of his log books and orders, but nothing explained the unfinished dress at the far end of the room.

There were certain aspects of it that made it unique, as well. The shoulders were wider than they should be, the hips loosened. Almost like it had been made for a man. Well, would’ve been, anyway. But he would have no way of knowing.

The tailor sighed, leaning back in his chair. Perhaps he’d never know.

Instead, he directed his gaze to the snow falling outside. He knew it’d been a pointless thought to keep his shop open on the day of a blizzard, but what did he know? There were always idiots wandering about on the most inconvenient days of the year.

He was almost surprised out of his seat when a small car parked itself outside of his shop, windshield wipers working frantically to keep the snow away from the front window. So there was someone out on the streets, was there?

Eddie watched curiously as a silhouette of what had to be a man exited the car. He couldn’t really see their appearance through all of the snow falling outside. Eddie stood from behind the desk, rounding the perimeter just as the bell chimed at the front of the store.

“Hello, welcome to…” Eddie began, pausing. The man across looked at him with the same curiosity he’d had moments before, but there was also a certain shyness to it Eddie found… Endearing.

The man was much smaller than him with blonde hair and pale skin, but it was quite obvious he was well past being an early adult. More likely in his mid-thirties, by Eddie’s guess. And incredibly cute. He nearly considered asking the man on a date right then and there.

He gulped, putting on a smile that was very, very real. “…Gluskin’s bridal and alterations.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chain has been broken! If anyone was still unsure about Eddie during the end of this fic, he was given only vague memories of the murders, minus Waylon's, in which he completely forgot. He's a lot less happy, knowing that he may have been a part of the loss of life. But he'll always remember what Waylon taught him even though he'll never remember Waylon and what he did ever again.
> 
> I still can't believe its finally been marked complete, guys.
> 
> My biggest thanks goes to my good friend [dandy-canary](http://dandy-canary.tumblr.com/), who made fan art for this story as well as talked to me about it when I had to spill the beans. Thank you, my friend. Best beta reader ever :D
> 
> I'd also like to thank [social-deception](http://social-deception.tumblr.com/), for being my #1 fan ever since the first chapter hit ao3 xD Thank you man, your support means so much.
> 
> And thank you to everyone who left kudos, comments, and bookmarked this story. You're the reason this story made it all the way to the very end-- Thank you.
> 
> The final, completed Ghosting playlist is [here](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/post/157750434378/trying-this-again-playlist-may-be-updated-in-the/) if anyone is still interested. Kind of like a final send-off I guess. xD
> 
> That's a wrap :)

**Author's Note:**

> For updates/notifications/art on Ghosting, visit [here](http://peachycans.tumblr.com/tagged/ghosting/).


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